


Pits

by Cordria



Category: Danny Phantom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 11:30:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 26
Words: 164,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21015059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cordria/pseuds/Cordria
Summary: Danny has been captured and thrown into the Pits by Walker to fight for his life. Listen in as he tells his dark, twisted tale of surviving despite the odds. (Also includes Final Exam - the two-part epilogue. Originally posted to Fanfiction 2006-2008, posted here in 2019. Not yet edited.)





	1. The Cover

_Deep in the darkest recesses of the Pits, in a place known to the prisoners only as the Dungeon, a battered and dirty notebook lies hidden in the corner underneath the hard cot in cell 143. Its torn pages are wrinkled and tattered, its once-red cover bent and partly missing. A pencil stub lies forgotten on the dusty cover._

_Scrawled beneath the remnant of the pencil is a note, barely legible in the flickering lights. A ghost rat that was passing by couldn't care less about the scribbled handwriting, but the rat's flicker of movement under the bed caught the attention of the cell's latest prisoner._

* * *

Dear Reader –

I warn you here and now – the story I have to tell is not one for the faint of heart. There will be tales of blood and gore, realistic and heart-breaking. At times, my own tears and blood may smudge the pencil marks on this paper. And I do need to apologize for the awful handwriting. The only light I have to write by are the ghost lights that flicker around the cell. If you've ever written by ghost light, you know that it is very hard to write (or read, I expect) in their odd light.

My story, for it is mine to tell, is not fun. The events will haunt me for the rest of my days, hiding behind my eyes to jump out in my dreams, and I will tell them how I remember them. Emotions will run thick and oppressive in this story. I guess, as my sister would say, I'm not writing this story for you – I'm writing this story for me. Consider carefully before you delve into the pages of my tale. Should you wish to read, just turn to the first page in this notebook.

I think I'll start on a Tuesday morning about two weeks ago when everything was still normal. It's not the real beginning of this tale… but it is a place to start… and all stories need to start someplace, right?

Sincerely Yours –

Danny

* * *

_The human shivered in the cold of the cell, clutching her ragged clothes closer to her. The old, red notebook lay momentarily forgotten by her side. She gazed about the empty cell, yanking her foot away from the brave ghost rat sniffing her toes, and cried softly. After a few minutes, she picked up the papers and cradled them to her chest. She closed her eyes, her mind drifting for a few more seconds._

_Finally, she turned to the first page…_


	2. Page 1

I'd love to say that Tuesday morning started out boringly normal: my annoying alarm clock going off; the annoying radio playing some annoyingly cheery song to try and get me awake; my even more annoying sister trying to beat me to the bathroom.

As I said – I'd love to say that. But I can't.

One of my least favorite ghosts of all time, an overly-obsessed ghost hunter, appeared in my room long before my alarm clock should have gone off. He yanked me out of bed by one foot, completely ignored my sleepy and indignant yelp of protest, and phased me through my wall to dangle me over the street by my ankle. By the time we passed the top of the Ops center, I had managed to shake off my lethargic state and was thoroughly awake. I was also thoroughly irritated. "Skulker…" I seethed, feeling my normally blue eyes flare a supernatural green.

"Whelp," the hunter-ghost gloated, the roar of his jet-pack loud in the silent night.

"Is there a specific reason I'm hanging upside down _before_ the sun rises? Or is it just the usual hang-my-pelt-on-your-wall power trip?" The fact that it was so early made this hunt a bit special… Skulker usually held off his hunting until later in the day. There were times when I figured that he appreciated sleeping in as much as I did.

"I wanted a crack at you before the others arrive." He continued flying upwards, barely giving me a second glance.

"You got up early for nothing, then… huh?" I crossed my arms and cast a look around to make sure nobody else had woken up and was watching the scene. I couldn't see anybody.

"This time, I – Skulker! – have you, ghost-child." He shook my leg in time to his triumphant gloating, making my teeth chatter slightly.

I kicked out with my free foot, catching Skulker's robotic body in one of the few truly weak points I've discovered over the months we've been fighting each other – the elbow. I had to stifle a yelp of pain as the heel of my bare foot connected with the hard metal, but my aim was good. The weak joint shattered. The lower part of his arm separated from the rest of his body and plummeted towards the ground.

On the positive side, I wasn't trapped by the ghost anymore. On the slightly more negative side, I was now falling towards the ground with the severed limb. This didn't trouble me too much, however. I had nearly a hundred feet left to fall before I splattered on the cement like yesterday's meatloaf.

You see, I'm no ordinary human. I'm your normal, average, fifteen-year-old ghost-human hybrid. I have the ability to take two different forms: one is a black-haired, blue-eyed human; the other is a white-haired, green-eyed ghost. This would be why Skulker called me 'ghost-child' earlier – and, perhaps, why he's obsessed with hunting me. There aren't many like me; I'm pretty much unique. Of course, this hybrid thing is a big secret from almost everybody – including my ghost hunting parents.

As I plunged downwards, I closed my eyes and let my mind slip into a meditative state, reaching down inside of me for that feeling that was associated with my spectral form. A chilly, weightless tingling flooded through my nerves, banishing the heavy warmth of my human body. Opening my glowing emerald eyes, I exerted my mind ever-so-slightly and stopped my head-long tumble towards the ground with well over fifty feet to spare.

Hanging upside down in the air, I watched Skulker's arm shatter on the pavement below before flipping over to glare at the now-one-armed ghost. The hunting-obsessed specter was watching me with a lot less cockiness than he had been moments before. You'd think he'd learn. We've been doing this hunter/prey thing for over a year and he's never won.

A cool trickle of ectoplasm swirled into existence in the palm of my right hand. I clenched my fingers, sending sparks of power flickering over my fist and casting a supernatural glow over the area. "Now, what made you think you could catch me this time?" I asked him.

Skulker raised his arm and grinned. "I have more tricks up my sleeve, whelp. I am the Ghost Zone's Greatest Hu…"

I slammed an energy blast into his face at that point, cutting off his self-promoting rant mid-word. Flying through the chill morning air, I phased through Skulker's metal body, quickly twisted around behind him, and wrapped my legs around his chest. One of my hands found purchase on his head.

"Skulker," I laughed softly into one of the microphones that served as the robot's ears, "I've wanted to try this out for some time."

"What?" His remaining arm came up to try and knock me off his back.

Ignoring Skulker's flailing arm, I turned my attention on my free hand. Ectoplasm burst into life on my hand, cool flames tickling my senses. Then I _focused_. I'd gotten this idea from Tucker's little cousin last summer break – the boy was scorching ants with a magnifying glass. The sun's rays were condensed into a sharp point that could actually start fires. I, of course, didn't have a magnifying glass handy… but I'm a ghost. I don't need a magnifying glass.

The ectoplasm flaring around my hand quickly whirled down into a smaller and smaller stream, glowing brighter and more powerfully with each passing heart beat. Before Skulker could get in more than two or three swipes at my artfully-unstyled white hair, I had a tightly controlled stream of ectoplasm no more than a few millimeters wide. It was glowing like a thread of molten metal.

Skulker didn't know what hit him. I sliced the ectoplasmic thread through his neck and it went through the metal like a proverbial hot knife through butter. After balancing for a second on his robotic shoulders, his head tumbled off. The ghost's body powered down and, for the second time this morning, I found myself falling through the air with a portion of Skulker.

I kicked away from his body and caught his head in my hands like a basketball. I hung there for a moment, the small frog-like ghost (who was _really_ Skulker) lodged in the helmet screaming and cursing at the top of his small lungs, and inspected the damage the remains of Skulker's body had done to the neighbor's roses. I yawned.

"It's too early Skulker. Go back to bed," I groused as I phased back into my parent's house and down into the lab in our basement. As I expected, the portal to the Ghost Zone was standing open and unshielded. Landing softly on the floor in the middle of the lab, I let a sleepy grin cross my face. I lobbed Skulker and his helmet back through the portal and shifted back to my human form. Shutting the portal and heading back up the stairs, I was ready to get another five hours of sleep.

But less than two hours later, that aforementioned annoying sister was pounding on my door. Apparently I needed to get up and go to school. Rolling over and glaring blearily at the alarm clock next to my bed, I noted that I had a whole twenty-five minutes until Tucker showed up at my door. My eyes drifted closed as my mind started to work on the problem. If I skipped breakfast again and didn't take a shower, I knew could get up and be ready to go in four minutes, thirty seconds. If my parents were safely in the basement and I could use my ghost powers, I could shave another minute off that time due to the fact that I wouldn't have to worry about little things like walls. That meant that I could sleep for at _least _twenty more minutes. Perfect.

I curled up under the warmth of my blankets and sighed, content with my decision to sleep. I only managed to get another ten minutes of bliss before my mother stalked into my room and yanked me out of bed in a fashion too reminiscent of Skulker's earlier hunt for comfort. I staggered through my morning ritual, stumbling downstairs in time to grab a few pieces of toast. At least I hoped it was toast – you can't always tell in my parents' kitchen. Whatever it was, it didn't try to eat me.

I was sleepily eating my breakfast when Tucker wandered into the kitchen. He grinned at me as he dropped his pack on the floor. For some reason, Tucker has always been a morning person. When he wakes up, he's completely awake. It's completely and totally unfair.

"Is that Skulker's remains on your neighbor's front lawn?" Tucker beamed as he dropped into an available kitchen chair and swiped my other piece of toast.

I sent him a sluggish glare, but decided to just answer his question and not bug him about stealing my breakfast. "Yup."

"He attacked you last night?" Tucker chewed noisily, rustling through his pockets for something with his free hand.

"This morning."

"Did you see this?" Tucker held out a folded piece of paper, stuffing another bite of his stolen toast into his mouth.

I glanced over at it. My best friend held it out patiently as I groggily contemplated the folded paper. I swallowed my last bite of toast, took the slightly glowing paper out of his fingers, and unfolded it.

It was a crude sketch of me – well, ghost me. To be more specific, it was a reward poster with a sketch of me on it. "Reward," I murmured as I read, "for the capture of the halfa known as Danny Phantom. Claim reward at the main prison complex. Preferred in one piece. Reward. Signed: Walker, Chief Warden, Ghost Zone." I slowly folded the paper back up and stifled another tired yawn. "Where'd you find it?"

"Skulker had it. I found it when I was checking his body for traps, bombs… my latest missing PDA…."

I groaned. I had completely forgotten to check Skulker's body last night. He'd taken up the rather annoying habit of booby-trapping his robotic leftovers to cause me headaches even after I kicked him back into the Ghost Zone. If he would have blown up in the neighbor's yard, it wouldn't have been fun. "Did you find your DPA?"

Tucker shook his head sadly, wiping a fake tear out of his eye. "No. May she rest in pieces."

Tapping the reward poster softly on the table, I couldn't help but grin at my best friend's insane melodramatics. "It's creepy: Skulker working for Walker."

"Yeah, it can't be good for us either." Tucker downed the last of my toast, drank my juice, and stood up. "Ready to go?"

"No," I sighed as a pushed away from the table and grabbed my backpack. "But I suppose I don't have a choice. The torture-chamber known as 'school' awaits." I stuck the folded poster into my backpack and followed Tucker out the door.

* * *

I somehow made through my first class, still a little dazed from my interrupted sleep. After _almost_ passing the pop quiz, I headed out the door and straight into Dash's waiting arms. Of course, my luck held true and the resident school bully had failed _his_ test as well. I ended up staring at the inside of my locker until the bell rang coming to the decision that I really needed to tape a crossword puzzle or at least a sudoku to the wall so I had something to do.

I should have gone home then. I _knew_ it was going to be a bad day.

One detention, three boring classes, and a missing homework assignment later, I found myself kneeling on the floor beside my broken backpack, picking up the scattered pencils and notebooks. "Stupid…" I knew better than to trust the Fenton version of the duct tape I'd used to fix my backpack after Cujo ripped it to shreds.

"It could be worse," Sam said simply, shooting me a glance as she stooped to grab a book that had managed to make it all the way across the hallway.

"Don't say that," I muttered as I grabbed the book and stuffed it into the remains of my backpack. "It can and _will_ get worse."

"Probably." One of her rare smiles flickered across her face. She grabbed one of the wayward pens and a folded piece of paper. She studied the oddly glowing paper for a second. "What _is_ this?"

"Um…" I glanced over at it as I tried to stand up and think of some wonderful explanation as to why I had my own reward poster in my backpack. Truth be told, I'd forgotten all about it until just now.

Tucker, who finally arrived on the scene, grinned and pulled out his PDA. My stomach jumped up into my throat at the thought of what was coming. Sam was going to think that I was holding this from her…

I was so dead!

"That's his reward poster," Tucker helpfully chimed in before I could open my mouth to speak. His PDA flashed as the camera took a few pictures of Sam's initial reaction. It wasn't pretty.

"What?" she hissed, unfolding the paper as fast as she could without ripping it into pieces. "You have a _reward poster?_" The paper crumbled in her hands as she closed her eyes for a second. "And why didn't you _tell me?_"

I shot an annoyed glance over at Tucker and dropped my broken and badly-packed backpack into his arms. Not only did it free my arms, it also kept Tucker's hands too busy to record this argument for later blackmail. I'd really learned to multi-task over the past year.

"I only found out this morning, Sam. And we really haven't had a chance to talk." I rubbed the back of my neck and tried to send her the sweetest smile I could find. "It's not that big of a deal. All the ghosts are after me all the time anyways."

She seemed to soften a little, the hard glint to her amethyst eyes vanishing. "You have a reward poster," an almost-smile flickered on her face as she studied the picture, "goody-two-shoes Danny Fenton."

Tucker nudged me with his elbow, holding out the mess of my stuff in his arms. "Dude," he said, nodding down towards the broken pack. I sent him a grin but kept my eyes on Sam.

She had quietly folded the picture up and had stuck it into one of the pockets of her jeans. "How'd you find out about it?" Turning on her heel, she started down the hallway towards her next class, confident that we'd follow her.

"Skulker had it on him when he attacked this morning," Tucker growled sourly, dropping my backpack to the ground. "Carry your own junk." He glanced towards Sam – she had frozen in the hall, her knuckles white as she clenched her fingers around the strap of her spider-style backpack. Dropping his voice, he added, "and for that trick, you so deserve what's coming."

"Skulker?" Sam twisted around, her purple eyes flashing dangerously as she stalked back to glare up into my eyes. "What's this about Skulker and why didn't you tell me?"

I backed up a step, swallowing heavily when Sam took a few steps of her own forward until she was within a foot of me. Sam was equal parts scary, dangerous, and furious, especially since she obviously felt like she was being left out of what was going on again. I wouldn't do that again… not after the last time I tried to leave her out of the ghost mess and she lashed me for it. "Um… see…"

"I don't see," she ground out, not even blinking when the bell suddenly rang around us. "Explain."

"He dragged me out of bed this morning, that's all. He's back in the Ghost Zone, his robotic body was on Mrs. Perkensin's roses when we left – it's probably be dissected by my parents by now – and I went back to sleep. That's all. It'll take him at least a week to make a new suit."

Sam took a step backwards, her eyes still dangerous. "You need to tell me these things, Danny. We're trying to keep you _safe_." She let out a long breath, her shoulders relaxing a little. "Even the little problems."

"I can't handle it, Sam," I told her. I had heard the 'tell us everything' argument a million times before and I never particularly agreed with it. It seemed slightly unfair that Sam and Tucker knew every aspect of my life and I didn't know nearly as much about theirs. "It's just Skulker. He hasn't managed to catch me in one of his lame traps in nearly a year."

"Someday, ghost-boy," she said softly, turning away and wandered through the empty hall towards her next class, her hips sashaying as she walked. "Someday you'll appreciate all the information and work that Tucker and I have been doing."

Tucker snorted softly next to me. "I've been doing all the information part. She's the one that can twist you around her little finger and make you tell her anything she darned well pleases." His grin turned a little sadistic. "She's not even your girlfriend and she's got you totally whipped."

"She's not my girlfriend," I mumbled out of practice before I realized that he hadn't said that she was and wrenched my eyes away from her. "And she can't get me to tell her everything."

"So can," he laughed softly. "Give up and get to class. You're going to get another detention for this latest tardy."

I sighed and bent down to collect the school supplies that Tucker had so helpfully dropped all over the floor when a shiver suddenly skidded down my back. My body felt like it had just been dunked in ice water and my defeated groan of annoyance fogged in the air in front of me.

Tucker's laughter grew. "Oh man, are you going to be late now. Just don't forget that Lancer is hanging a suspension over your head if you skip the entire class again."

"Why another ghost already?" I asked as I collected my stuff and tried to debate what to do with it for now. "Two in one day is just evil."

With a happy smile, Tucker took the stuff out of my arms and turned to walk towards the class we had next. "I'm betting it's the reward poster dragging the idiots out of the millwork."

"Great, more people gunning for my head." One last check of the hallway – nobody around but Tucker and I – and I closed my eyes and let the cold weightlessness of ghosts surround me. My whole body tingled for a second as energy wrapped around me as I changed into my ghost form. I was just about the open my eyes and take to the air when I heard a small explosion behind me and a net wrapped around me. "What the…"

"I have you!" a strange voice cheered from behind me. I squirmed in the net for a second, unable to phase through it, then twisted my head around to see who had caught me off guard. As expected, it was a ghost. He looked like something right out of an old safari movie. Baggy-looking pants with lots of pockets, safari-style helmet, funky vest, and gun-case over his shoulder. He even sported the obligatory mustache. The only thing missing was the elephant that he should have been riding.

I rolled my eyes as the nameless ghost launched into the celebratory (and apparently obligatory) monologue about how good a hunter he was. I pushed my hand against the net, then raised an eyebrow as I listened to 'Theodore' ramble on about how he had captured the great halfa and how there was nothing I could do about it.

Closing my eyes for a second, I pulled a bunch of energy out of the air and curled it into a ball right in front of me. I released it suddenly and it slashed outwards at the ghost net like a dozen sharp razor blades. The net disintegrated around me as I drifted up into the air and stretched. Safari Theodore hadn't even noticed my escape from his 'genius and fail-proof trap'.

Seriously… where do ghosts get egos that big? I've never met a ghost who didn't think they were the greatest thing since sliced bread.

I was just about the blast him to get him to shut up for a moment when a very familiar explosion reached my ears a split-second before _another_ net appeared out of nowhere and dragged me to the ground. "Crap," I hissed as I slammed painfully into the floor of the school. Two nets in less than a minute? Where was my head?

"You let him escape!" a deep voice berated Theodore. A new ghost, dressed as a turn-of-the-century war general, strode past me and stuck his sword into Theodore's face. "Don't you remember the plan, you dimwit? We were going to trap him in the net and then _shock him_ so he couldn't escape! You forgot to shock him."

"I didn't have a shocker, Simon. I lost it," Theodore shot back. "I forgot to ask Louise for a new one."

I rubbed my head, shooting the arguing ghosts a disbelieving look. Both of them were so wrapped up in discussing the minute points of their 'plan' that they were forgetting to follow through with it.

Again.

I ripped the net open and floated in the air for a few seconds, carefully studying the hallway for more net-toting ghosts. Fool me once, shame on them. Fool me twice, shame on _me_. Fool me _three_ times… well… I probably would have deserved to stay captured. "Guys?" I asked when I decided the coast was relatively clear. Both of them turned to look at me, their eyes widening when they finally noticed that I was free of their net. "Let's take this outside, shall we?"

Blasting them through the wall and into the school's parking lot, I let a small grin cross my face. Both of these ghosts were pathetically weak. With any luck, I would have been able to catch the two of them and make it back to class without ending up being suspended the next day.

I chased them across the parking lot, randomly blasting them as they shouted insults over their shoulder at me, trying to get close enough to catch them in my Fenton thermos. I was within seconds of getting them and ending this silly game of cat and mouse when I ran into a large, gray wall.

The wall wrapped a thick, snake-like arm around my waist and squeezed tightly. I coughed, struggling to breathe as I squirmed in the vice-like grip. I couldn't phase through the strange… "Louise!" Theodore's annoyingly happy voice interrupted my thoughts, "You got him!"

"Of course I got him," the gray wall answered, the arm that had me in a death-grip vibrating as it spoke. "You idiots didn't follow the plan, did you?"

"Theodore didn't have his shocker," Simon whined, appearing in front of me. "It's not my fault."

"Yeah?" Theodore shot back as I felt the world start to black out. I was going to pass out from lack of air. "Why didn't _you_ shock him when you had him in _your_ net?"

"Enough!" trumpeted the wall, giving me a harsh shake and rattling my oxygen-starved brain. "Enough of the endless bickering. We catch this stupid halfa and we can go our separate ways, got it?" The gray arm slammed me into the ground and released its hold on me.

I pushed myself to my knees, gasping in one big lungful of air after another, swiveling my head to find the three ghosts that were hovering above me. Safari Theodore was pointing his net-gun in my general direction, war general Simon was holding a very nasty-looking device that was no doubt the 'shocker' the two had been arguing about earlier. And between them… I groaned as soon as I had enough breath to do so.

Louise was an elephant – a large, heavy, intimidating-looking creature that happened to be floating nonchalantly in midair. Theodore really did have the complete ensemble. If my stomach hadn't been hurting so much from the squeezing I'd just endured, I probably would have laughed at the sight of the safari ghost with his elephant.

My hands glowed as I clenched my fists and staggered to my feet, my breathing still ragged. I had barely gotten my balance when Theodore leveled his gun and pulled the trigger. Raising one hand, I shot his net to bits before it got anywhere near me. "You need to sneak up on me for that to work," I informed him, "I've had a lot of practice with nets."

Theodore blinked at me, pushing his pith helmet back on his head a little. "So go shock him," he said to Simon.

"What? Are you nuts?" the war general yelped.

"It was my job to get him into a net and yours to shock him. I can't get him into a net… so you need to shock him first."

"I'm not going near _him_!"

I watched the two of them as their argument escalated, my head tipped to the side, wondering if I could suck them into my Fenton thermos now or if I needed to weaken them a little bit first. My eyes drifted over to the elephant. She was staring down at me, her intelligent eyes boring into mine. I shivered as I realized that the elephant I had so casually been brushing off was the leader of the unlikely trio.

After a few moments of us gazing at each other while Simon and Theodore bickered, she nodded stiffly. Then she grabbed her two companions in her strong trunk and vanished.

"Hey…" I drifted a few feet into the air, all thoughts on following them and catching them before they did any damage, but I suddenly remembered Lancer's all-to-real threat of suspension and I hesitated. With a scowl, I turned around and headed towards class. I figured two idiots and an elephant couldn't get in _that_ much trouble in two hours. I'd catch them after school.

* * *

"Sam, it's no big deal! I'll catch them after school."

"Do you even _care?_" she snapped back, slamming her locker shut. "They're going to come back to hunt you _again._"

"I know. And I _do_ care!"

She headed up the hallway and I followed her as she grumbled to herself. "It doesn't sound like it, you know."

"It's _my_ life, Sam."

"You're being an idiot," she shot over her shoulder.

"So are you," I mumbled, wincing almost as soon as it was out of my mouth. I never should have said that, but she was being so annoying overprotective.

"What did you just call me?" she seethed.

"Nothing. Just drop it."

She glared at me for a long few seconds then stormed towards my locker. "We don't want to see you get hurt. We're just trying to _help_."

"I know. I appreciate it," I tried to sound appreciative as I said it even though I still wasn't too happy with the idea of them having their fingers in so much of my life. "And I don't want to get hurt either."

"Then…" Sam leaned against the locker next to mine and waited while I twirled in my combination.

"What did you want me to do, Sam? I couldn't miss any more class. Detentions are bad enough, if I get _suspended_, my parents will kill me."

"I don't know. But you just let them go!"

"There's nothing I can do about it _now_." I dug through the mess on the shelf for my English notebook. "Besides, I didn't put a reward on my head. I can't help the fact that they're hunting me right now."

"You should have caught them," she muttered darkly.

"I know," I sighed.

She was quiet until I found my notebook and pushed it into the remains of my backpack. "What are you going to do when they come back?"

"_If_ they come back, I'll hunt them down after school and toss them back into the Ghost Zone." I grinned at her.

"_If they come back_?" Sam repeated with a raised eyebrow and a skeptical tone in her voice. "There's only one period left. What're the chances?"

"Knock on wood," I breathed, hugging my broken pack to my chest and heading towards Mr. Lancer's English class. "Lancer will personally skin me alive if I miss even three more seconds of his class."

"I still think you're an idiot for not catching them," she mumbled and picked up the pace to walk ahead of me.

"What's her problem?" I asked rhetorically as I wandered behind her.

"I think she's scared," a familiar voice said from right behind me. I twisted around to glance into Tucker's eyes with surprise. "Hello, Mr. Oblivious. I've been following the two of you for since Sam's locker." He grinned. "She doesn't do scared very well, you know that. It comes out all angry and yell-y. She'll get over it."

"You think?" I wondered if she'd still be like this after school.

"Totally," Tucker laughed. "She can't stay away from you – she likes you too much."

* * *

Sam sat as far away from me as possible in Lancer's class. She stared down at her notebook, doodling and being very careful not to glance in my direction. I watched her quietly, trying to decide what it was that I had done that had pissed her off quiet this well. Hadn't I made the right decision earlier… letting those idiots go in favor of not getting suspended from school? They were just three ghosts that made the Box Ghost seem clever and powerful in comparison.

Should I apologize? If so, for what? I settled back a little farther in my chair and let a long breath.

"Mr. Fenton," Lancer's voice startled me out of my trance-like contemplations, "would you care to enlighten us about the relative merits of Osco's poetic form?"

I blinked at him, off-balance from the quick transition for trying to figure out life's mysteries to the boring topic of English poetry. To make it even worse, I hadn't even understood the question… much less had a clue as to the answer he was looking for. The feral smile on his face just made it all the worse. Lancer knew very well that I had no idea what he had just asked me. "What?"

"You _did_ read Osco's poem last night, correct?"

I nodded after a second. For once, I really _had_ done my English homework.

"What do you think were the best parts of the format Osco used?"

Hesitating, I tried to remember the long one-sided chat Jazz had trapped me into last night when she had caught me reading Osco's poetry. I had made a mental note to lock the door whenever I was reading poetry ever again – apparently Jazz liked poetry a little too much – but it was coming in handy. "I liked… all the rhyming words?" I watched his eyebrows rise a little at my half-question and struggled to remember something else. "Um… and how so many of his words started with 's'… it made the poem seem evil and scary… and those," I paused, searching my mind for the right word, "stanzas were neat too – they were went from six lines to five lines to four, all the way down to one and then back up."

Lancer's eyebrows went the rest of the way up his forehead and he watched me in silence for a long moment. I was just starting to sweat and wonder if I had read the wrong poem or if I had spoken in a strange language or if I had randomly turned invisible when he smiled. It was kind of scary. "Very good, Mr. Fenton. Continue to do your homework and you might pass this year after all."

I relaxed back in my chair, untying the knots that had developed in my stomach. Lancer had the evil ability to wreaked havoc on a student's self-confidence with a simple look, and he had been focused on me for nearly a minute. The class was settling into a discussion on another of Osco's poems when a trumpeting call blasted through the classroom.

Crossing my arms and dropping my forehead onto my arms, I felt the ghost get close enough to trigger my ghost sense. Shivers wracked my body and my cold breath misted in the air as I mouthed curses under my breath. Stupid ghost hunters. Stupid reward.

Around me, the class devolved into whispered conversations as everybody tried to figure out if the strange sound had been a ghost and what was going to happen next. I had a feeling that I knew what was going to happen and tensed, waiting for the screaming to start.

To their credit, the class didn't panic nearly as much as I had figured they would when a ten-foot-tall mass of gray-green elephant charged through the wall and into their midst. There was the expected screaming and cowering and running, but it seemed to be an almost organized panic. Only in Amity Park.

"Get him! There he is!" I heard the elephant trumpet and I picked my head up to look at her.

Safari Theodore and the war general Simon phased through the wall and grabbed onto my arms just as the last few students were slipping through the door and to safety. They yanked me out of my desk and through the ceiling, dropping me onto the roof. Rubbing my shoulder and staggering to my feet, I took in the sight. The idiot trio had grown. A ghost with an axe, a ghost with a bow and arrows and twin ghosts that looked like medieval knights had joined their ranks. Now it was an idiot septuplet.

"Give up, Phantom!" Simon screamed from the relative safety of his gang. "We've got you outnumbered now!"

"Like you didn't have me outnumbered earlier," I muttered as energy flared around me and I switched back to ghost mode. I was going to catch the idiots this time. Pushing off the ground, I laughed a little and held up a hand. "Bring it."

The knights vanished from the group, reappearing on either side of me. I crouched, trying to keep track of all eight of the ghosts at once, calculating which ones needed to be taken care of first. My ghost sense wasn't too reliable at telling me what ghost was attacking or where the ghost was coming from, but it was dead accurate at assessing how powerful the ghost was. The knights were barely powerful enough to stay corporeal, much less be a threat, and Simon and Theodore weren't much more dangerous than Mrs. Perkensis' rose bushes. It was the ghosts with the axe and the bow and arrow and the elephantine leader that were the most dangerous and needed to be dealt with.

My eyes caught sight of the bow being drawn, the arrow pointing in my direction. I flipped myself intangible just as the string snapped and the arrow zapped through the air and went right through my head.

"Alive, idiot," the elephant hissed. "He's not nearly as valuable dead."

I pushed myself off the ground, flying up into the air. The axe ghost suddenly appeared right in front of me and I yelped, ducking under the wild slice of the axe before kicking out with my foot and sending the axe ghost flying backwards. He recovered quickly, glaring at me and switching his axe from one hand to the other, snarling at me.

A twang of string caught my attention an instant too late. An arrow sliced through the skin on my arm and another quickly fired arrow lodged into my right thigh. I bit back a scream, dropping through the air away from the axe ghost and the out of the sights of the ghost with the bow. Jerking the arrow out of my leg, I steadied myself in the air and glared up at the four ghosts.

I sent a barrage of ectoblasts in their direction, watching the four ghosts scatter before regrouping. "Your aim needs work," the axe ghost laughed, bringing his arm back to throw his axe at me.

Still wincing in pain and trying to ignore the ectoplasmic blood that was dripping down my leg, I pulled a huge ball of energy together in between my hands. It glowed like a small star, throwing supernatural shadows across the roof of the school. I held it between my palms, spikes of energy racing over my body and making my muscles twitch and ache. "Dodge this," I snarled. I released the energy and watched it streak towards the ghosts.

As predicted, they dodged.

This ball of energy was not a normal ectoblast however – it was a relatively new talent that Tucker called an ecto_bomb_. It reached a point right in between the four scattering ghosts and went supernova. The sound of the explosion probably cracked several of the school's windows and the blast wave whipped around the tops of the trees. The force of the explosion sent me wheeling through the air and I landed heavily on the school's roof, my head spinning.

The axe ghost, the ghost with the bow, and the twin knights were a lot closer to the bomb and fared a lot worse than me. All four of them were lodged in the trees, not moving.

"Now," I whispered, getting to my feet and searching the air for the other three. I hadn't seen Theodore, Simon, and the elephant Louise since the fight had started. The three ghosts had vanished. "Where did they run off to?"

"Danny!" I glanced over my shoulder to see Tucker push open the door to the school's roof and pick his way over to where I was standing. There was a sympathetic look in his eye as he took in the wound on my leg. He dropped a hand on my shoulder. "You okay?"

"Yeah, but I need to go find the other three." I felt my heart drop when it became clear that Sam wasn't going to pop out of the door to see if I was okay.

Tucker gave me a small smile and pulled the Fenton Thermos off my back. He trained it on the semi-conscious ghosts in the trees and sucked them in. "Maybe you should take a short break. You can hunt them after school."

Nodding, I shifted back to my human form and rubbed my hand over the spot on my thigh where the arrow had gone in. It had somewhat healed when I had changed forms and it wasn't really bleeding anymore. "It's first thing on my list after school though. Those three are becoming annoying."

"Back to class?" he asked, handing the thermos back to me.

"Why not," I sighed.

* * *

I walked home with Tucker after school, still favoring my right leg a little. I couldn't believe that Sam was still ignoring me – what had I done that was so horrible? Tucker's explanation that she was scared just didn't seem to fit. Why was she so scared _now?_ She hadn't been like this last time a ghost attacked that I didn't catch right off the bat. What had changed?

Tucker was jabbering on and on about the new cell phone he was hoping to get for his birthday the next week. As he monologued, I thought about different plans to finally catch the trio of annoyances and get Sam to talk to me again. My mind was a million miles away.

"Dude," Tucker gave me a soft punch to shake me out of my thoughts. "Come on. Think it through: you've hit rock bottom. The pits. What more could go wrong?"

I looked up at him a smiled slightly.

I remember seeing his eyes go wide.

I remember my ghost sense going off.

I remember the vague sound of an elephant trumpeting in triumph.

With those ironically famous last words still ringing in my ears, everything went black and life as I knew it ended.

* * *

_The human dropped the notebook to the ground and rubbed her eyes. The boy had really fought to stay out of the Pits. She hadn't: she had been taken without a fight. Shivering slightly in the cold, she pulled her legs closer to her. Echoing oddly through the dark cells, she could hear the sounds of cheering and booing coming from somewhere in the distance. A tear trickled out of her eye but she dashed it away quickly and sighed. There was no use in crying. Not anymore._

_That bold, black rat snuck back out from under the cot and crept up to the red notebook, sniffing the pages. She shooed it away. Picking up the notebook, she scooted her body around so the flickering ghost lights caught the pages better, and turned the page..._


	3. Page 2

Well, dearest reader, that's how I ended up in here. I was caught by some of the most pathetic ghost hunters the Ghost Zone has to offer. I don't remember the trip at all – it was quite some time before I was really able to comprehend just how much my life had changed in those few seconds. 

And the fact that I couldn't remember what happened after those idiots shot me with that dart came back to haunt me over and over again. Walker really knows out what buttons to push…

But I'll get into that when it's time. Speaking of time…

Days have no meaning in the Pits. There is especially no meaning to the _word_ "day" in this cell that you and I have found ourselves. There is no sun, no moon, and no light. The flickering ghost lights that wander eternally around our cell don't dim and brighten over the course of the hours. Ghosts, who are eternal creatures, have no need for something as trivial as 'days'. They don't care about the passage of time. Many, I figure, try to ignore the fact that the human world is passing them by.

I have been locked in the Ghost Zone for two weeks now… by my reckoning. During this time, one of the odd things that I've noticed is that ghosts work so hard to ignore the passage time that the entire Ghost Zone has been tainted with their thoughts. This place completely lacks a sense of time. It's nearly impossible to count in a steady rhythm or to try and tick off seconds with your fingers. At first, I had a good idea if long periods of time had passed based off of my own body's rhythms and patterns. I slept regularly and ate regularly. But, a few days ago, I sat still and watched a ghost light flit around my cell. I couldn't tell you if I sat there for minutes or hours. I think I've lost my ability to sense the passage of time as well.

I'm not trying to explain temporal physics to you – I don't understand it myself. I only tell you this to try and explain how I know that two weeks have passed. In reality… I have no idea how much time has gone by while I lounged around in this regal splendor. I do, however, know that fifteen "days" have passed. Since I no longer have a concept of how long a true day is, my definition of a day is a bit different by necessity. They are neither twenty-four hours long nor does it have anything to do with my sleep schedule. My "day" ends with each fight that I am thrust in to.

Sometimes the fights come in a regular interval – two meals, a fight, two meals, a fight – and I can almost convince myself that those really are days that are passing. Sometimes there are six or eight meals between fights. Some days I don't eat. My mind likes the idea that the meals come at steady intervals (so some of my "days" seem longer than others in my mind) but I have a feeling that this isn't the case. I have to keep reminding myself that my cell keepers are ghosts and ghosts, as I told you, lack a definite sense of time. I'm probably fed whenever it crosses their minds. This is one reason why I plan my days around the fights rather than the meals. The fights seem to have a more definite time frame and rhythm.

Anyway. My "day" ends at the end of a fight. The next "day" begins when I'm thrown back into my cell. My "day" consists of lying around, eating when somebody remembers I exist, and talking to LJ… or L'Jai… whatever. It's complicated and I'm getting into things I don't need to yet. All I need you to understand right now is that when I say "day" I don't really mean twenty-four hours have passed. It means that I am between fights. Day one – which you are about to read – does not start and end at midnight. It ends at the end of my first fight… that brutal fight with Crusher. And it starts when I wake up. Make sense?

Have you ever been knocked out? If you have, then you know that you don't wake up nice and slowly, your eyes slowly opening and the panicked faces of your loved ones coming into focus like they do in the movies. I wish. The first thing I remembered was an absolutely splitting headache and a painful throbbing feeling coming from my wrists. The _last_ thing I wanted to do was open my eyes. I've had enough headaches to know that I did not want to open my eyes… and that I didn't want to see who would be looking at me when I woke up.

There wasn't a chance in hell that I could pretend to still be unconscious at this point either. Before I even realized that it would be a good idea not to let anybody know I was awake, I had already let out a loud moan of pain and had curled up into a ball, trying to get my hands over my head. It took me a few dazed seconds to figure out that I couldn't get my hands to my head. It took me a handful of seconds more to comprehend that my hands were behind my back – and seemed to be tied together.

Probably a half a minute passed before I was able to do anything besides lie there curled up into a little ball. When I did manage to think about something outside of my throbbing body, the first thing I noticed was the harsh, dry laughter filling the room. It whipped through my head and slammed into my skull with a syncopated beat that made my head spin. Here was where the movies finally got something right: I knew that laugh. It didn't take processing time. The pit of my stomach knew that laugh.

Walker.

I cracked my eyes open and stared blearily in the direction of the laugh. The ghost warden was standing against the other wall of the room, his head thrown back in an all-out laugh. Two of his deputies were floating to each of his sides – both were grinning evilly and flicking glances in my direction. Finally, Walker stopped his chortling and looked over at me.

"You awake, Punk?" he asked. His voice still haunts my sleep. It rasps dryly in his throat, menace and pure evil coloring any sounds that make it past his constricted windpipe. Walker is true evil: he was when he was alive; he is now that he's dead; and your whole body feels it when he talks to you. It's like a cold shiver that runs down your spine and up the back of your neck.

He locked his eyes on mine. Not that he really has eyes – they are more like two dried-out, withered, marble-sized remains of eyes that rattle around in his skull's sockets. They work nicely with his bone-white skin and cracked lips though. It gives him a malevolent look that fits his personality perfectly. Walker's thin lips stretched into a smile when I didn't answer him.

"I finally have you right where I want you." Walker laughed softly, a jarring combination of snake hissing and death bells tolling in the distance. "You cannot escape me this time."

"Wha…" I rasped. My brain exploded with pain when I tried to talk. I snapped my eyes closed and gritted my teeth, missing the first part of what he said next.

"…sent out a reward for your capture. I put up a reward big enough to entice the best hunters and trackers in the Ghost Zone to go after you. I never would have figured those three idiots would have gotten you. Guess you don't live up to my expectations, do you, Punk?" Walker tipped his head to the side, his raisin eye-balls rolling lopsided in his sockets. He brought his hand out from behind his back and grinned down at the item he now held loosely in his desiccated fingers.

"However, my sense of judgment must not be overcome by your past transgressions or my expectations. We are here today to get a confession out of you for your more grievous crimes. Only with a confession can the proper punishment continue on its course." He brought a slim knife up and held it before his face, making sure I could see it. The blade was darkened with rust and blood, the old handle dirty from much use. "This is my child. She has been with me forever – she died with me. She had seen quite a bit of use, and can tell you stories that you will not believe. Do we understand each other, Punk?"

I stared at the dingy blade, my heart skipping beats. I knew very well what that blade was capable of. During Walker's life, he had used that blade to torture and kill dozens of people in the booming town of Phoenix. For his crimes, he had been hung and, rather than being buried, his body had been thrown out into the bleak Arizona wasteland to slowly mummify. I had looked up Walker's life months ago. James Theodore Walker. The murdering sheriff of the desert.

Walker twisted the knife a bit, allowing its bloody surface to catch the flickering green lights and reflect onto the walls. One stray bit of light sparkled off the blade and lit up his neck, giving me a quick view of the bruised and torn line around his throat where the hangman's noose had tightened. I had no desire to find out what he could do to me. "I understand," I whispered, my throat tight.

"What was that?" Walker grinned, showing me with rotting teeth, and reaching one bone-like hand up to cup the side of his head. "Perhaps we need to teach the boy how to speak up."

"I understand," I whispered again, but my voice was even quieter than before. I shivered and tried to scoot backward, but my back was already against wall. I had nowhere to go and no strength to get up.

"Pick him up," he ordered, pushing his ten-gallon hat back a bit on his head. "We need to teach this boy some manners and for some reason they pass out and die quicker lying down."

The two deputies drifted across the room and yanked me to my feet. One held my bound hands roughly while the other grabbed my shoulder to steady me. "Hey boss," the one on my right quipped, "he's shaking like a leaf in a sandstorm."

Walker strode across the room, his dry skin rubbing like sandpaper. "Is he now?" Walker crooned. "We can't abide by that, now can we, boys?"

The ghost behind me laughed softly, panting on the back of my neck. "Nope. What you going to do, boss?" I shuddered away from him. The deputy to my right grinned widely at me, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"Well," Walker drawled, tapping the moldy blade against his dry lips, "I was thinking about maybe starting with that talking problem of his. Then, if we can fix that, maybe we can move on to this confession we need."

"Hear that, kid?" the right deputy laughed, freezing spittle flecking onto my face. "We gonna hurt you bad."

Walker stepped up to me, his withered nose less than an inch from mine. I stared into his eye-sockets, smelling his foul, rotten breath for a total of a heartbeat. Then I closed my eyes, turning my head away. There was no life or compassion in him. I was at his mercy… unless…

I reached deep into my mind, searching for that cold, weightless feeling that had been there since that accident over a year ago. I scrambled through the mess of my brain, tossing thoughts left and right as I searched desperately for that feeling. I couldn't find it. It was gone.

Suddenly, I was jerked back to reality by a hard slap to the face. "Don't turn your face from me, Punk," Walker snarled.

"Why can't I go ghost?" I mumbled, still dazed.

Walker reached into his blood-covered, hole-ridden sheriff's uniform and dragged out a very familiar-looking device with two prongs. "I'm borrowing this from a friend of yours. I do believe that the special 'effect' will last for another hour." He tossed the Plasmius Maximus into a corner and grinned widely at me, giving me a clear view of the fact that he was missing quite a few teeth in the back. Not for the first time, I cursed Plasmius with all my heart.

"Now," Walker continued, "we need to 'discuss' your ability to talk. One must speak up when spoken to." He held out the knife, tracing the point over my cheek and down to my throat. "Mustn't we?"

I stared bleakly at him. What was I going to do? I had nothing to fight with, I had no where to run… I closed my eyes and let my head hang. Now I was trapped in Walker's prison, about to be thrown in jail for a thousand years. I screamed as my left arm suddenly exploded in pain, jerking my eyes open. Walker's knife was buried in my upper arm up to its hilt.

"Do _not_ turn your face from _me_!" Walker screamed in my face, his scratchy voice echoing in my ears and bringing my pounding headache to a whole new level. Suddenly, Walker's crazed expression vanished, and he repeated – in a perfectly normal tone of voice, "One must speak up when spoken to, mustn't we?"

My mouth opened and closed a few times. I gazed into his eyes, my mind completely blank. Between the throbbing of my head and the shooting pain in my arm, no thoughts were coming together to get me out of this.

"Answer me," Walker snapped, twisting the knife that was still lodged in my arm. I screamed as the pain flooded up into my brain and my legs tried to give out. The only things that kept me from collapsing were the two spectral deputies holding me up. "Answer me," he hissed softly.

"Yes," I managed to pant. Tears flooded down my cheeks and peppered the floor.

"Yes, _what_?" he sneered, twisting the knife a bit farther.

My brain froze, it couldn't think. My arms trembled and I just stood there. I finally just shook my head in defeat.

"Yes, _sir_," one of the deputies said smartly.

"Yes, sir," I repeated in a whisper.

Walker pulled the knife out of my arm and examined it closely. He hummed softly, twisting the blade to see every aspect. My blood dripped lazily down the length of the blade and slid over his dried-out fingers, coating his hand in a gooey-red glove. Then he looked up at me, a malicious grin on his face. "One must speak up when spoken to, mustn't we?"

I opened my mouth, but Walker beat me to it. Picking a spot just above where the blade had mangled my arm last time, he carefully inserted the tip of the blade under my skin, and began to slowly start skinning me alive. I hadn't thought anything could hurt worse than the twisting knife. I was wrong. I hadn't even begun to process the pain when my brain commanded my voice to scream. "Yes, sir!"

Walker stopped suddenly and smiled at me. "Good," he cooed. "Now, Punk, we need that confession."

I stared into his skull-like face. "What confession?" I asked softly. Walker moved his blade closer to my arm and I repeated myself – much louder. "What confession?"

"Why, the one where you confess to murdering your friends, that's what confession."

"What!" I snapped, my eyes opening wide. "I didn't…" I hesitated when Walker's knife pricked the skin of my cheek. "I didn't…" He pushed down harder, warm blood trickling down my face and getting into my mouth. My blood does not taste good. I tried one more time. "I…" but I couldn't really even get started.

"Come on, murderer. I just want that confession."

I stared up into the dead, desiccated eyes of the ghost warden and felt a chill run up my spine. What other choice did I have? "Fine," I whispered, not caring about the volume of my voice. "I confess." My arms, tied behind my back, were suddenly yanked hard, causing me to yelp in pain and drop to my knees. The shock from that horrible device wouldn't wear off for nearly another hour. I was stuck as a human. I was trapped. I squirmed for a second against the chilly hands that were holding me roughly to the floor.

"Confess to what?"

"Killing my friends," I whispered.

The knife blade danced in front of my eyes for a second. "Manners, Punk. We must speak up when spoken to, mustn't we?"

I gazed into his eyes. Even though my thoughts were riddled with pain, the fact that he had said that same sentence three or four times managed to filter into my mind. At that moment I simply filed that away for later and decided to speak up. That knife had too much of my blood on it already.

Perhaps if I had known what was coming, I wouldn't have been so quick to give up. I would have searched for another solution. But that's the annoyance of hindsight. At that particular moment in time, in a vain attempt to escape the situation and to stop the pain, I confessed to a murder that I'm pretty sure I didn't commit. "I confess, Walker. I killed my friends."

Those lifeless eyes contemplated me. Walker's dry lips spread into a bloodless smile. "Good. I have come to my decision, punk," he whispered as the guard to my right chuckled mirthlessly. Walker jerked his chin up at the guards, the scars from the rope burn around his neck showing for a brief second. Then I was hauled to my feet, my shoulders and stabbed arm screaming in pain. "The penalty for your crimes is death. I sentence you to be executed."

"What?" I hissed. "You can't…"

Walker's bloodless smile grew and he interrupted me. "Throw him in the Pits."

"You want we should stick him in a cell to stew for a bit?" The guard grinned down at me.

Walker grinned, his withered eyes staring down at me from his skull-like face. "Punk," he said, "I'm going to do you a small favor."

"Yeah? What?"

"I'm giving you a chance. A chance to be famous."

I blinked up into his dead eyes, silent. My arm throbbed distantly in time with my headache, the slice in my cheek nearly forgotten. My fingers tingled faintly and squelched when I clenched my bloodied fingers together. Don't get me wrong. I may have given in and confessed for Walker – but I was not down for the count. I had not given up yet. Walker offering me a chance to be famous? Nothing good can come of it.

Walker held a small, round device in his boney fingers and twirled it around in small circles. I didn't know what it was, but it had to be better than that knife of his. I shivered as his dried-out skin rustled like leaves in the silent room. "You win this fight, kid, I'll let you have your ghost powers back. I'll give you that leg up."

I had no idea what he was talking about. Fights? "Why?"

"The halfa in the Pits and fighting? You'll make me rich, Punk."

I laughed softly, not bothering to try and move. "And why would I do that for you?"

His bloodless lips stretched into a parody of a happy smile. "Because your very existence rests on it. The Pits are one of the only places in existence where ghosts can truly die." Silence stretched as I stared into his dried-out skull. Walker studied me for a second and then held the little device out to one of the guards. "Don't bother with the cells. Take him right to Former. Get him set up to fight – nice and early. I want to see him squirm before lunch."

The guard to my right accepted the small circle and nodded to his companion. They hauled me roughly to my feet. "See you later, Punk," Walker croaked as I was marched from the room. "Oh, and boys? Make sure Skulker takes his place as Ghost Enemy Number One for that trick he pulled this morning."

* * *

The corridors that I was dragged down were right out of a nightmare. The walls and floor were made up of roughly hewn rock, worn smooth my hundreds of years of feet. The ceiling was low and heavy as it pressed down on us as the guards escorted me gruffly towards my destination. There were no windows or lights – not even any torches on the walls – the entire place was lit up by small flickering fireflies known as ghost lights. They sparkled green and blue against the dark rock, dancing and racing each other around the cracks and crevices of the ceiling.

The worst part was the doors. There were dozens of them: heavy, solid, wooden doors with thick metal locks. Row after row, door after door, they seemed to file past us as the deputies marched me through the hallways. That day, I didn't bother to try to count… I really didn't care how many doors there were.

I've since figured out that there are between sixty-two and seventy-three doors in each of the corridors and that there are seventeen corridors dedicated to prisoners like you and me, dear reader. Each of those doors leads to a small cell not much different from the one you and I are sitting in. Many of those small cells contain prisoners… humans and ghosts waiting to be executed for the pleasure of the masses. I can't even begin to tell you how happy I am that I didn't know that on that first day. I'm not sure I would have survived if I had known what odds I was up against.

As it was, on that day I was shaking and almost delirious from the combination of the fear, the cold, and the pain in my arm when they came up to an odd-looking door set deep into the wall. One of the deputies pulled a huge key out of his coat pocket and stuck it in the lock. Neither the lock nor the door made any sound as the key was turned and the door swung open.

"Former!" the deputy snapped. "Newbie!"

They pushed me roughly into the brightly-lit room. I tripped over the door frame and came down hard on my hands and knees. I hissed in pain, yanking my bleeding arm up off the floor and cradling it to my chest. Before I had a chance to stand up or even hurl a half-hearted insult in the direction of the two deputies, the door slammed shut behind me. They had left me alone in the strange room.

"What's your name, kid?" I jerked my head up, scanning the room. It took awhile to scan the entire room – it was piled with odds and ends and useless junk from around the world, all illuminated by the first real lights I had seen in this strange place. Finally, I spotted the man who had spoken. He was sitting behind a desk, his warm, brown eyes gazing at me from behind a humongous book. Most surprisingly, he was human. "What's your name?"

"Danny," I mumbled, staggering to my feet and continuing to sweep the room.

"Danny what? You need a stage name, kid. Even newbies get a stage name." His voice was soft and mellow as he studied me.

I held my arm carefully against my side and glanced at him. "Why would I need a stage name?"

"Scare your opponents." He grinned. "Names like Crusher and Slicer and Blood Bath and such. I could pick one for you. I'm good at that… lots of practice." His smile slipped off his face for a second before coming back full-force.

It took several blinks for me to process what he had told me. You can't really blame me for being a little slow. I had a massive headache, had just been tortured, and still had no idea what was going on. It took me a few moments to get my mouth to work. "Phantom."

"Phantom? That's a good one." Former leaned over the big book and scribbled on the page for a few moments. "I'm Former." He flashed me a grin. "First name's Gregory, or Gory, or even just 'human' depending on who you talk to. Welcome to the Pits, kid."

"What's going on?" Of all the questions dancing around in my head, that one was the one that seemed to sum up my confusion the best.

Former was silent, biting his bottom lip before answering. "You're fighting Crusher today. Not fun for you, I can tell you that, kid. Crusher is a thirty-two time champion. Just two fights shy of a new record. Odds are against you. Nearly fifty to one that you loose."

I stood there and stared at him. Only one word merited being said. "What?"

"I've never seen him fight, mind you, but I hear he's a bit slow on his direction changes, and he's a pretty low-powered ghost. Not much in the way of ectoplasmic manifestations or any of that stuff. No telekinetics, no splitting, no nothing. He's more brute strength than cunning." Former stood up from behind his bench and stretched before walking over to me, my eyes widening. Former was _tall_; seven feet _easy_. His spiked hair only made him appear even taller. "Now," Former muttered to himself, his eyes traveling over me, then over the room, "you need some stuff. What do we have…"

He trailed off, humming softly as he began to wander around the room. Picking up a pair of sword-like objects, he grinned but then shook his head and moved on. I watched him dazedly for a few minutes as he grabbed two shiny metal things and a few more odds and ends then he strolled back to me. He grabbed one of my arms and held it out, measuring my length of my arm from my elbow to my wrist with his hands.

"Perfect," he whispered, kneeling down. Grabbing a roll of gauze he had brought, he started to wrap the wound on my arm. "Normally," he commented as he worked, "I'm not allowed to medic anybody – not that I'm good at it anyway – but Walker said he wants to give you a sporting chance. I don't see why. You're not going to win, kid. Not against this guy." He tightened the gauze and tied it off.

Then he picked up the two sword-like objects he had dug out of the junk that littered the room. "These are your blades. They get registered to you, and nobody else can use them until you don't need them anymore." They sparkled dully in the light as he held them up for me to see. "Pure ectoluminum, these things are razor sharp and can cut through anything… ghost or otherwise. Ghosts can't even phase through them. And it also reflects ectoblasts. That's a neat feature. Takes some getting used to – but if you can learn it, you can fight like nothing else, kid."

He pulled out a few leather straps and strapped the sharp blades onto my arms. The blades began just below my elbow, arced up and over my arm like a sharp, pointed shield, then cleared my wrist and hand before slicing away from me. The point was almost two feet beyond the tips of my fingers. The blade seemed to almost glow green in the bright light of the room.

"We only give these blades to humans, so you don't have to worry about Crusher having them. I heard that they used to give them to ghosts – back before humans in the Pits was legal – but some ghosts had some kind of psychosomatic connection with the ecto- part of the ectoluminum and made it kind of unfair. Lots of fun and frankly terrifying stories about what they used to be able to do. So now it's just humans like you and me."

I looked up from the two blades now connected firmly to my arms and stared at him. There was nothing I could think of to say and I still had no idea what was going on. My brain and my arm hurt like nothing else. So I settled with the one thing my mind knew it could say. "What?"

Former laughed. "Kid, I do hope you win your fight. You're funny, you know that?"

"What?" I don't know if I actually said it this time, or if I just mouthed the word. It was rather a moot point anyway, as the heavy double-doors on the other side of the room slammed open right then. Four guards stalked in, their eyes pinning me in place.

Not that I would have moved anyway… I had just gotten my first view of the Pits through those open doors.

* * *

I'm assuming, dearest reader, that you've never seen the Pits. It's entirely possible that you have and that you are a seasoned fighter by this point, but I'm going to assume for a second that you're not. You can't really understand what happened next until you understand what it was that I saw through those double doors in Former's room. 

The Pits is an awe-inspiring place even if you don't know what you're getting into. Imagine walking into a modern-day football stadium, the roof arching impossibly high over your head and the seats set out in raising rows on every side. Now imagine five of those stadiums, all interconnected with tunnels and miles of tunnels, filled with tens of thousands of ghosts screaming for blood. According to Former's odds, for every one person out there cheering for me to win for that first fight, fifty were screaming for my head to roll – literally.

The pit that I was escorted into by my four guards was a sandy area about the size of a football field. High, red and green walls surrounded the pit, each facet of the wall glittering like polished enamel in the bright lights of the pit. Not that I could look around (at least one guard had a strong hold on my hair and was forcing my head down towards the floor… which I did not appreciate with my headache), but I can tell you what it looked like since I've had a few fights in there since then.

I had no idea what I was in for. I had some vague idea about fighting and Crusher and ectoluminum blades… but my whole plan at the time was to go with the flow. Escape later. It couldn't be that bad to just go through with the fight.

When we reached a point about a third of the way across the pit, the guards shoved me to the ground and took off, wanting to stay away from my blades. I couldn't have used them at that point. I was too stunned by what was going on.

Crusher, however, was a different story. It took seven guards to wrestle him into the pit and to his starting position. As soon as they let go, Crusher swung at them, taking out a guard with his overly-large fists before they managed to get high enough that the ghost-shield preventing the fighters from flying away and hurting the betting patrons could snap on between them.

There were a lot of things I didn't know that first point. I had no idea that the second I was released I was allowed to start. I didn't know what I was supposed to do. I didn't know the consequences. But I learned _really_ quickly. The poor guard that hadn't gotten away fast enough was my first lesson in pit fighting.

Crusher ripped the guard to shreds with his bare hands, ectoplasmic blood raining down on the sand like a small thunderstorm. As I stood there, stunned by the suddenness of the guard's demise, Crusher looked up and grinned at me. There was no sanity left in those green eyes. Crusher was crazy. I knew it down to the tips of my toes. I knew I was next.

The speed that the huge ghost could move was a surprise. I guess it was partly because I was in shock and not thinking right, but Crusher was about fifty feet closer to me before I realized it.

His fist was glowing green and heading straight for my head. If it would have connected, I would have lost my head right then and there but I managed to duck at the last second, my arm reacting automatically with a year's worth of ghost hunting reflexes. I tried to punch him, but I had forgotten about the blades. When my arm snapped out, the sharp point of the blade went right into his gut.

I yanked it back out, stammering an apology. I hadn't meant to hurt him like that. Crusher looked up at me, his green eyes burning with crazy hatred, one hand holding onto the gash in his stomach. "You," Crusher hissed, his voice deep and echoing.

He came at me again, an ecto-blast forming in his hands. I raised my arms in self defense, crossing the blades in front of me. I was lucky, I suppose. Crusher's ecto-blast smashed into the blades and was deflected away, slamming into the ground. I was pushed backwards a few feet, my arms tingling from the force of the blast.

Crusher followed the blast in, fingers grasping for my neck. Humans find themselves in the pits nearly as often as ghosts do, and Crusher had fought enough humans to know our weak spots. A simple twist of the neck and I would be finished.

I, however, was finally coming out of the shock of the first few attacks. I wasn't quite ready to die at the hands of some crazy ghost. I sidestepped Crusher's attacks and slammed a blade into his arm as he passed. The blade was a lot sharper than I had thought it would be – it went straight through his arm with little resistance. Crusher and his left arm were forever separated.

He staggered to a stop, holding his severed stump of an arm close to his body, ectoplasm dripping down his front. Snarling in pain, he launched himself towards me again, this time taking to the air. Ghosts can't fly high in the pits because of the ghost shield, but they can get about fifteen feet off the ground. Once Crusher was up to his highest point, he dove at me.

There is nothing quite as scary as a six-foot tall, glowing, powerful, and insane ghost hurtling towards you at about a hundred miles an hour. He had his fist out in front of him, fatal amounts of ecto-energy pulsating between his fingers. I thought my reaction was wonderful considering the circumstances: I screamed and panicked.

This happened to be quite helpful in this situation. I dropped into a crouch, my hands coming up to cover my head. Of course, the blades attached to my arms were then sticking up into the air. Crusher, already in a steep dive, was going way too fast and couldn't stop or correct his dive in time. He had been aiming for my chest. Now that I was crouched, he was aimed for my two blades.

He ran into them, not being able to pull up enough, the two blades carving out long strips of his chest and abdomen. Crusher collapsed to the sand, screaming in pain as I scrambled to my feet and warily got as far away from the enraged Crusher as I could. I figured he had more tricks up his sleeve – being the reigning champion and all.

I was right. Crusher managed to push himself to his feet despite the enormous pain he had to have been in, seemingly gallons of ectoplasmic blood running down his front, and then vanished. This would have been a much bigger deal if Crusher hadn't been bleeding all over the place. His ectoplasm didn't stay invisible once it wasn't connected to him anymore. I could easily trace his path across the pit floor by the thick trail of green blood he was leaving behind.

When Crusher reached me, I was ready. I knew where he was. I thrust my two blades forwards in a double-punch, feeling the two sink into the cold flesh of his stomach. What happened next reviles me even to this day. I know that ghosts fix themselves much quicker than humans, and what I did was far from fatal for Crusher, but it still weighs on my mind at times. I had two blades in his abdomen about four inches apart. When I felt his cold skin hit my fists, I ripped my arms apart, tearing the blades through Crusher's sides and, basically, cutting Crusher in half.

Crusher screamed, losing his invisibility instantly. I was showered in a spray of cool ectoplasm as he teetered on his feet for a moment. Then he collapsed onto the ground, his good arm clutching at his destroyed stomach, unable to move because of the pain.

I stood there, dripping in my opponent's freezing blood, staring at him. He wasn't going to get up – not for a very long time. I had won. I looked up, gazing around, wondering, stupidly, when the medic was going to come and help Crusher and let me off the field.

The crowd was chanting. "Destroy! Destroy! Destroy!" They were screaming and cheering, the ghosts that had placed bets on me shrieking to get on with it so they could go collect their winnings.

I wasn't able to comprehend what they meant. I had won, hadn't I? What more did they want from me?

Walker answered my unspoken question. He had been sitting in his special box for the entire match, but now he was floating over the pit, just on the other side of the ghost shield. "Destroy him, Punk."

"What?" I wasn't being dense. I knew what he meant… I just couldn't understand why.

"Only one of you may survive, kid: you or him. Choose."

I looked down at Crusher, who was staring up at me with those crazy glowing eyes. "Kill me," Crusher whispered. "I'll just die tomorrow when they throw me back in here. I'm too injured to fight anymore. Kill me so you can live."

There were tears on my cheeks. Crusher wasn't fighting anymore; I wasn't going to hurt him. "Kill him!" Walker ordered.

"I can't," I whispered, staring down into his eyes. "I can't kill him." I stared at him, sinking down by his side, not noticing the cool ectoplasmic mud that I was kneeling in. It was through my head by this point: it was either him or me. One of us had to die. One of us had kill… and it wasn't going to be Crusher killing me anymore.

Crusher smiled up at me, his green eyes locked onto mine. "The first kill is always the hardest, kid." I felt his muscular hand grab my limp arm. He maneuvered my arm so the blade was hovering over his throat. "One swift cut and it'll all be over."

"No…"

I still can't believe what happened next, and I'm not sure exactly what happened. Crusher started my arm moving down and through. I completed the movement. I'm not sure when it went from Crusher killing himself to me killing him. I still don't know if Crusher committed suicide or was murdered.

I do remember the cool gush of ectoplasm as it left Crusher's throat and washed over me. Crusher disintegrated in my arms soon after that, leaving nothing behind by a muddy pool of green ectoplasmic blood in the sand.

And that's how I won my first fight in the Pits. Day one was over.

* * *

_The young woman shifted against the hard ground of her cell and sighed. Things did not look good for her. "I'm going to end up in those pits, aren't I?" she whispered. The small rat, her only company, glanced up from where it was rooting around under the hard cot and twitched its nose. "That's how it goes, I suppose. But, then again, I guess I deserve it, don't I?" She snorted when the rat seemed to nod its head before going back to snuffling around the stone tiles._

_She scanned back over the page she had just read and wrinkled her forehead. "I wonder…" she trailed off, biting her lower lip. "There are a couple of things that make no sense. What's this thing about Skulker? Isn't he the bad guy from before? And who is LJ?"_

_She knocked the back of her head against the stone wall a few times. "It's kind of twisted, isn't it?" She stared off into the wall, her mind a million miles away. "I'm trapped in a ghost world, facing imminent death, and all I can think about is this stupid story this kid wrote. And I'm talking to myself. Am I crazy?"_

_Underneath the cot, the ghost rat paused in its eternal search for food. It looked up at her for a few seconds, then it suddenly vanished without a trace._

_"And the rat disappears. That's it. I'm crazy." She laughed softly for a second and then turned the page…_


	4. Page 3

I am, I think, forever tainted with ectoplasm. I mean – yeah, I'm half-ghost so I'm part ectoplasm by nature – but still. If I ever get out of the Pits, I am going to set off every one of my parents' ectoalarms for all of time. It's the food. Never have I seen so much glowing-ness in what I am forced to consume. Not even that sausage pizza my parents cooked that one time glowed with the voracity that all of the food does here.

Even the human food that Walker imports into the Pits glows vaguely. Some of it has a red radiance. Some of it blazes green. Some of it smolders with an odd bluish color. No matter the color, each and every scrap of food glows. The color does give me a neat way to figure out who made it though. You see, the Pits employs three ghostly chefs. The French ghost, a pale specter who looks like he got run-over by a train, creates the greenish cuisine. His food is arguably the best tasting. LJ disagrees rather vehemently on this point. He believes the food with the bluish glow (manifested by a young lady with a flair for slicing off heads with her seven-inch-long fingernails) is far superior. He thinks our difference of opinion has got something to do with the resonance of ghostly energy or something. I've got green energy, so I appreciate the green glow of the food. His is blue, so he leans towards the bluish food.

This is completely beside the point, however. My food just arrived – which has put me off on a slight tangent from the story I was trying to tell. It looks slightly like oatmeal pudding. It tastes slightly like oatmeal pudding. It also has the disgusting red glow that tells me the mean old chef made it – the one with the droopy hat and the wrinkles that actually came to yell at me a few days ago for not liking his fish-flavored jell-o. He had some odd name for it that I can't remember. (LJ has just informed me that it was called lutefisk and that it was not jell-o, it was actually fish. He should stop reading over my shoulder when I'm writing… it's annoying.)

While I finish my excellent cuisine, which does look a lot like a bowl full of clotted, glowing blood, I need to continue the story that I was telling you. Now… where'd I leave off? Oh, yes. I had just finished my fight with Crusher. Day one was over. Day two was just beginning.

I don't remember much about the time right after the fight. My memories seem to merge directly from Crusher disintegrating in my arms to me sitting in my cell without any apparent time lapse. I know there was one, and I'm aware of what probably happened to me during that gray area, but my mind is a complete blank on what actually occured. Rather than fill you in with "might haves" and "probablies," I'm just going to skip to my next complete memory.

I was lying down in a dark, little cell, staring up at the ceiling. The blades had been removed from my arms, my clothes had been changed from the blood-soaked t-shirt and jeans to a Pits uniform, my hair wet from the shower I had taken and my wounds banaged. My arms itched where the leather bindings had held the blades in place and my left arm ached from Walker's stab wound. But my mind was far away, busily trying not to think about what had just taken place. I wanted to focus on anything but the fact that I had just murde…

The lights. I spent hours lying on my bed, staring up at the tiny balls of ignited ectoplasm that danced and flickered around my ceiling like tiny fireflies. In all that time that I watched them flit slowly around the room, I didn't ever them fall into an actual pattern. Their movements were a random dance that I couldn't be a part of. Every once-and-a-while, two of the lights would swirl close to each other, like partners in a complicated and long-forgotten dance, and twirl around each other for several minutes before breaking apart and spinning lazily in opposite directions.

Most disconcerting, however, was a chance meeting of the green flickers in the center of the room a few hours after I had first started watching them. They danced around until all seven of the lights were poised close to each other above my head. Then, for a split second, they seemed to form a picture: two glowing, green eyes that blazed with pain, pity, disgust, and determination. The exact same eyes that I had stared into hours before as the ghost they belonged to disappeared forever.

I shut my eyes tightly and rolled onto my side, curling into a ball. Something cool trickled down my cheek, but I didn't bother to raise my hand to figure out what it was. It wasn't until the sob escaped me minutes later that I realized that I was crying.

I was crying over the death of a ghost that had tried his hardest to kill me.

I'd never seen someone die outside of the movies. The ghosts I fought were never really killed… they weren't even really _hurt_. I just kicked them around long enough to weaken them and suck them into my parents' Fenton thermos. It hadn't even occurred to me that ghosts could _be_ killed – they were already dead. My first experience with death and it had occurred right in my fingers.

And just to make it worse, I was the one who had killed him.

I was a murderer.

I buried my head in my arms and let the fear and the pain of the experience wash through me. Crusher's final moments seared through my brain. I could still feel the smooth movements of my arm as the blade opened up the ghost's throat. My skin crawled at the remembered coolness of the ghost's blood as it split over me and my throat burned at the taste of evaporating ectoplasm in the air. Just as I reached the end of my memory, it restarted. Over and over, the ghost's death played through my mind like a CD player eternally stuck on "repeat."

Finally, the tears refused to come anymore. In my head, the memory blurred and shortened. Soon, all I was watching was the ghost disintegrate in my hands. Then all I could see was the ghost's face as he died.

In the end, all that was left were Crusher's eyes. Filled with pain, blazing with determination, and crowded with a sorrowful pity and fiery anger, his green eyes gazed at me in my mind.

A million times, my mind replayed the exact moment when whatever life Crusher had possessed fled from his ectoplasmic body and left his glowing eyes a dull, lifeless green.

Those eyes stared at me until I finally fell asleep.

* * *

I was jerked out of my sleep when the door to my little room slammed open.

"Punk, get up."

I blinked blearily up at the intruder, wiped grit out of my eyes, and scratched at the dried trails the tears had left on my cheek. Slowly, I got to my feet and watched the three ghosts that were entering my room.

The last ghost, a short guard missing his left eye, carefully shut the door behind them. He leered at me, but flinched when I met his gaze. I dismissed him instantly. I glared at the largest of the ghosts: Walker. "What do you want?" I muttered.

Walker backhanded me with enough force that I was tossed into the wall. "One must speak up, mustn't we?" he snapped, "And you aren't allowed to talk unless spoken to." Still shaking stars out of my brain, I didn't put up a fight when I felt two hands grab my shoulders. Something pressed against my throat and a sharp _click_ snapped through the air. The hands pushed me back to the ground and let go. By the time I had staggered back to my feet and twisted around, both deputy ghosts were once again standing a pace behind Walker.

I raised a hand to my neck, feeling the odd collar that had been secured around it. It was about as thick as a finger, smooth to the touch, and felt a bit like leather. A convulsive shiver ran through me as I forced my hand back down to my side. "This is…" I trailed off, hoping that the desiccated ghost warden would finish my sentence.

Walker's cracked lips opened in a parody of a smile. "Let me explain the rules to you, ghost kid. Follow the rules and we won't have a problem. Understand?"

I nodded absently, clenching the fingers on my hands to keep them from flying back up to the thing around my neck and trying to tear it off. The collar was making the hair stand up on the back of my neck. Something about it was just… wrong.

"Rule one: prisoners do not attack other ghosts or humans outside of the arena." Walker glared at me for a second before continuing. "Rule two: prisoners do not speak to guards unless spoken to. Rule three: prisoners are not to use any ghost power against ghosts or humans outside of the arena. This includes wish granting, mind control, overshadowing, telepathy, parapsychology, or any other odd power that may crop up. Rule four: prisoners will stay in their holding cells until the fight, with few exceptions. Rule five: prisoners may not escape the pits. Rule six: prisoners are granted one wish every seven successful fights – this wish may be used on anything that does not attempt to break the aforementioned rules. Do you have any questions?"

Still fighting the odd desire to yank at the collar, I didn't bother to listen to Walker's listing of the rules. I figured I was destined to break all of them anyway. "What is this thing?"

Walker leered at me. "That, punk, is a specially designed device to deal out consequences to prisoners that break the rules. Would you like to see what it does?"

To this day, I still can't believe that I actually said "yes." I plead momentary insanity due to the fact that I was still half asleep, my mind still hadn't processed Crusher's murder, and the abnormal craving to have my own hands around my throat due to the collar.

From what I remember, I don't think Walker really believed that I had said "yes" either. He stared at me for the longest time, completely silent. Then he shrugged, grabbed a small device off of his belt, and showed me the small button. "If you break one of my rules, kid, this is what happens." He pressed his finger down on a button.

Instantly, pain flooded through me. "Gaaaahhhh!" I screamed and collapsed to the floor. It felt like every single one of my nerves had suddenly caught on fire. Almost as quickly as the fierce burning had engulfed me, it was gone. I lay on the floor, shaking from the tremors of pain that still flew through me.

Keeping my eyes welded shut and struggling to keep down the trembling in my body, I barely processed what Walker said next. "These collars are used to keep ghosts in line when they aren't in their cells. Every guard has got one of these shockers. I'll also mention that the walls are phase-proof to both humans and ghosts, so you can't escape that way."

I heard his boots squeak against the rough stone floor as he stepped closer. The next time I breathed in, I could taste his foul breath in the air. He had to have been leaning right over me. The temperature of the air around me dropped a dozen degrees in seconds, leaving me with goosebumps trailing up and down my arms. Walker's voice, rasping like dry bones in a desert sandstorm, whispered in my ear. "You were lucky with this first fight. You _should_ have died. I saw what that pathetic ghost did – he gave you your life, punk. You _won't_ survive the next one. I'll make sure of that."

His presence moved off. His boots rapped sharply on the floor a few times as he strode away. The door creaked open, letting a breath of warm air blast into my cold cell. "Oh, and kid," Walker's voice echoed slightly in the hallway beyond the door, "I'll keep my word. You can use your ghost powers in this next fight. For now, anyway." The door slammed, making the air vibrate in the silent cell.

Above me, the ghost lights twirled in frantic patterns against the dark ceiling.

* * *

When my door creaked open again some indeterminate time later, I was still curled up on the floor, my eyes shut and my mind whirling around in pointless circles. I listened as something clattered against the stone floor followed closely by a wet, slopping sound. Then the door clicked shut again. Silence filled my room. Finally, I picked my head up and looked around.

My mind was still trying to figure out everything that had happened… and it wasn't doing a good job. All of my thoughts flickered through my head and then vanished before I could fully comprehend them. Suddenly, my brain stopped and fixed on the idea that was foremost in my mind. I look back now and wonder what I thought I was going to accomplish, but at the time it made perfect sense. I pushed myself to my feet, one hand tugging absently at the leather collar around my neck. "Going ghost!" I screamed, letting my body flood with cool, crisp energy.

As the rings of light cascaded around me, I let my eyes blaze green. My entire being was centered on the one thought that echoed inside of me: escape. There was no possible way I was going to stay in this cell a moment longer.

Feeling the cold tingle pass over my head and beyond my feet, I pushed off the ground. I flipped myself intangible, throwing myself at the door. I slammed against it going a good forty miles an hour. Despite the pain of my shoulder ramming into a very solid door, the second my bruised body connected with the floor I was back onto my feet. Snarling in anger, I flung myself around the room, kicking and punching at walls. No matter how intangible I tried to be, the walls, floor, and ceiling remained solid and immovable.

After a few minutes, I stopped, hanging suspended in the center of my tiny cell. Greenish blood dripped off of my tattered gloves. If I had been in the right state of mind, I might have noticed that a few of my fingers were broken, but something like that was the farthest thing from my mind. Even though my intangible act had failed like nothing else, I was still dead set on escaping from this hellish place. It was the only thing that was echoing around in my head. Frustration leant me strength, fear gave me the drive to move, and a tiny bit of insanity provided me with inspiration.

Freezing energy congealed in my hands as I raised them up to point at the door. My eyes flaring to the point where they were starting to illuminate the cell all on their own, I collected an energy blast that rivaled any that I had ever made. "Let me _out!_" I screamed as I threw it at the door, hoping the door would be blasted into a zillion pieces. Nothing. The blast fizzled against the door, not even singeing the wood planks.

My disappointment in my first failed attack fueled the temporary insanity that had captured my brain. I yelled crazily, sending thick streams of spectral energy in every direction. The air sizzled with power; ice formed all over the cracks in the thick stone that made up the walls, only to be melted a breath later by a flare of green ectoplasm. In desperation, I let power deluge into my vocal chords. My fanatical shouts turned into a super-sonic blast that stripped away every last ounce of my spare energy.

I collapsed to the ground on my hands and knees, back in human form, panting. Water dripped nosily into puddles as the last of the ice melted slowly away. Small scorch marks on the stone sizzled and steamed. For the second time today, tears leaked down my cheeks without me being fully aware of it. Drained of the manic energy that had momentarily possessed me, I dropped my head down to the floor and let a sob convulse my body.

Crouched there, drowning in my own misery, I didn't notice the faint skittering noises that rippled over the distant dripping of water. Something metallic scraped softly against stone floor. I shifted slightly, pressing my palms against my eyes, but I didn't look up. The soft scraping sound filtered through the room again, barely registering in my mind over my own moaning.

Suddenly I froze. A new sound had echoed around the room. It was a sound that I wouldn't have expected in this dark and depressing room… not even in my craziest dreams.

It sounded kind of like laughter.

Carefully, I raised my head and glanced around for the intruder in my room. Four stone walls met my dazed gaze. The serious lack of other people was instantly obvious. After a confusing few seconds, an odd, blue glow drew my eyes to the spot on the floor next to the door. I blinked a few times, focusing on the strange object sitting there. I had never seen it before.

It looked like a metallic, somewhat bowl-shaped container. The glow came from inside.

Unwinding my arms and legs, I hastily brushed the remnants of tears from my eyes. I crawled forwards a few steps, cautious peering into the bowl. My eyes widened as I took in the odd contents. The first was a thick, slightly glowing blue slop. The second thing…

The second thing in that bowl was a rat. Almost completely black, the small animal had what looked like tiny, light-blue, zigzag streaks running along its back and down its legs. A short stock of fur between its ears and its thick tail glittered the same blue color. Its lean muscles tensed as its glowing blue eyes stared straight into mine. We both held perfectly still for a few heartbeats.

My mouth twitched up into a tiny smile despite the despair still eating at my stomach. "Was that you making that sound?" I asked.

The ghost rat continued to watch me, whiskers moving slightly, feet planted firmly in what I assumed was supposed to be my supper. I watched it blink at me. Then it vanished like it had never even existed.

I shook my head, leaning heavily against the door and staring around my room. The ghost lights were all huddled in the corners of the ceiling, their dance temporarily destroyed by my earlier outburst. I breathed out slowly and let my head drop back against the door with a thud.

My eyes closed, I brought my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. I let head fall forwards on to my knees.

My body was completely drained of energy after my crazy attempt at escape. My mind was exhausted from the emotions that had run rampant through me. For the first time that day, I was too tired to care that I was stuck in a ghost's death trap. I was too tired to think about Crusher and his murder. I was too tired to wonder what would happen next.

Mind black, I drifted to sleep.

* * *

"You're fighting a ghost named Slasher today," Former muttered to me as he was strapping the blades onto my arms hours later. "He's only a three time winner, but the word is that he is positively nuts."

I stood there mutely, watching his deft, coffee-colored fingers set the last buckle into place. I had been roughly woken up and been dragged through the dark, dank hallways only a few minutes ago. The short guard that was missing his left eye – the one from before – had been one of the guards to help wake me up and had delighted himself in twisting my hurt arm brutally the entire way to Former's room. Whether or not I was completely awake yet was up for debate. My brain was still very fuzzy due to the fact that my mind was furiously trying to deny the idea of what was about to happen next. I really didn't want to think about it.

"Odds are still against you… about 40 percent betting on you." He looked up at me, his brown eyes sparkling. "On an interesting note, more ghosts have placed bets on this fight than any other fight today." He smiled faintly before turning away.

"Former, why do you do this? Why don't you fight them?" My voice was still hoarse from my screaming earlier.

The man didn't turn around or make any attempt to answer my question. "Rumor has it that Slasher has some special technique that involves ectoplasmic knives… beware of that. And get him fast. He's truly insane – even for a ghost."

I lifted my right arm, trying to get used to the extra weight from the blade. Reaching forwards, I tapped Former on the shoulder, careful to not cut him. He glanced over his shoulder at me and smiled.

"Why don't you answer my question?"

That's when I noticed it. When I spoke, he wasn't watching my eyes. For some reason his eyes were fixed on my mouth as I talked. He opened his mouth to say something when the double doors leading to the pits creaked open. Four ghost guards zipped through the opening and quickly pinned me to the floor.

"He's in pit four today," Former said softly. The tallest guard nodded and yanked me to my feet.

"Okay, okay," I muttered darkly. Feeling a sharp jab in my back, I started walking, the guards carefully holding my arms behind my back. Just after I passed through the double doors, they were closed. I took a deep breath.

Here we go again.

* * *

There are five pits we fight in. Pit four is the smallest; not much larger than a few normal-sized boxing rings placed side-by-side. It's usually reserved for fights that Walker doesn't think will pull much of a crowd. As you can guess, since I'm still as alive as possible for a half-ghost two weeks after my original capture, I'm a pretty good fighter and I draw quite a crowd. I don't fight in pit four very often.

I knew kind of what to expect as the guards pushed me out into the pit. The cheering and booing crowds staring down at us, the dusty sand that had been churned into a slurry muck due to all of the spilled blood and ectoplasm, and the chill, dead feeling to the air were no real surprise. What made me come to a complete halt was the appearance of my opponent.

Slasher was a skinny, lean-looking ghost with his black hair pulled back into braids that trailed down his back. He was struggling violently against his captors, twisting and kicking and screaming. Seven guards were holding him tightly in place. The crowd was going wild at the display Slasher was making. Everybody was waiting for me.

The guards that were holding my arms grew tired of me standing still and gave me a harsh shove. "Move it," one snarled. I stumbled towards the starting spot, my face pale as I watched Slasher twist himself almost upside down in his attempt to escape.

Suddenly, he seemed to notice me. Slasher stopped dead, his blue eyes narrowing and focusing on me. An insane smile cracked his lips and he gave a short, barking laugh. His guards, taking his stillness as a cue, quickly let him go and fled. My guards were only a heartbeat behind them. When the ghost shield buzzed into existence, it was just me and him.

The fight was on.

Slasher crouched down low to the ground, his eyes never leaving mine. His twisted grin grew as he took in my pale face. He was chuckling softly, waiting. The first move was his to make… and he knew it.

Finally, after my heart had beaten loudly in my ears for a small eternity, he moved. He sprang forwards impossibly quickly, his arms coming forwards and two icy knives forming in his hands. I threw myself to the side at the last second, trying to get out of his reach, but Slasher flung one of the knives after me.

I yelped with pain when it dug into my arm and rolled to my knees to wrench the frozen weapon out of my arm. Dropping it into the muddy sand, I pushed myself to my feet. Slasher was watching me from about five feet up in the air, his crazy smile still on his face. I brought my arms up defensively, blades crossed, and licked my lips. It was a waiting game… Slasher crazily confident and me with my knees shaking and my mind blank.

"Attack! Attack!" the crowd chanted around us. Slasher did just what they asked; he dove at me, icy knives forming in his hands as the crowd cheered. My knees trembled slightly as I watched his demented grin get closer and closer. I couldn't figure out what to do… my brain was still not working right. Everything seemed to be moving too fast for me to handle. I needed something, I needed some kind of plan.

Slasher dodged to the side when he got close, flinging both of his knives at me as he zipped past. I managed to deflect one with a lucky twist of right arm, but the other came in too low and left a deeply scrape my leg. Biting my lower lip against the sting, I turned around and tried to keep him in my sights.

I was too slow. Another ice-knife buried itself deep in the back of my thigh. I screamed as blood spurted out of the wound and cascaded warmly down my leg. Instants later, Slasher himself slammed into my back, throwing me face-first into the bloody muck. He landed heavily on my back and grabbed my arms, twisting them behind me.

Working to keep my face out of the muddy slurry on the ground, I struggled against his dead weight. He leaned over me, chuckling darkly, and his freezing breath puffed into my face. He shifted slightly, trapping my arms with his legs and freeing his arms. One hand shot out and grabbed my hair, pulling my head backwards. The other hand's fingers curled around a quickly forming knife. The knife slid sharply through the air and came to rest next to my throat right above where the collar was sitting.

I froze, terror clawing at my throat. Slasher giggled, listening to the cheering of the crowd. "You're dead," he sang softly. "Another one bites the dust!" He leaned down close to me, breathing in my ear. "Dead, dead, dead." The ice knife started to press against my neck. "Slowly," the insane ghost whispered, "ever so slowly." He chuckled, letting the knife cut through my skin and a few drops of blood trickle down my neck. "Beautiful death. Slow and perfect. We mustn't rush it now… no…" His chill breath tickled my hair as he sang to himself.

I closed my eyes, trembling. The knife slicing into my neck didn't hurt nearly as much as my arm and leg did – partly due to the fact that the icy knife was quickly numbing the area. Suddenly it was like a fog had been lifted from my mind; the fear that had been clogging my brain since the beginning of this fight simply vanished like it had never existed. My gears in my mind whirled into movement. "No…" I rasped. I didn't want to die. Not here. Not at the hands of a lunatic ghost. I tensed my arms, but they were firmly trapped and refused to move. "No."

Slasher giggled. "No escape from death, is there?" he breathed. "Slow, gorgeous death."

I was _not_ going to die. "NO!" I screamed, my eyes blazing green. "I am NOT going to die!" Spectral energy flooded through every cell in my body. A thick wave of green energy blasted from me, throwing Slasher off of my back and tossing him against one of the walls of the pit. My body tingled as rings of light flew past me.

With a snarl, I got roughly to me feet and pushed off the ground. My leg and arm still oozed slightly and ached fiercely, but the cut on my neck was almost gone. I glared down at Slasher, who was blinking up at me in confusion.

Even though my hair was now white and my skin had turned pale and slightly translucent, my usual outfit while in ghost mode was no where to be seen. I was still wearing my Pits uniform – a formless, sleeveless shirt and pants – but it had drifted from a dingy gray-brown to a midnight black and my emblem had appeared. The blades attached to my arms had gone from a dull gray to a star-like silver that simmered and sparkled with spectral green energy.

My white prison-style shoes floated a few inches the ground. I hung there, watching Slasher study me. In the tense pause, my brain registered that _something_ had changed about the pit. My eyes darted around, trying to search for this hidden thing while still keeping an eye on Slasher. It took a moment, but I finally got it.

The pit was completely silent. The hundreds of ghosts up in the bleachers watching the fight were not making a sound. I glanced up at them; they were all holding perfectly still, staring at me.

After a few breaths, soft murmuring filled the arena. Then there were a few indistinct shouts. It took a while, but the noise level quickly grew to a head-pounding roar. The spectators were screaming themselves silly over this latest turn in the betting pools.

And still neither Slasher nor I moved. He stared at me, cocking his head from one side to the other. Slowly he rose from his sprawled position on the floor, phasing the sticky mud off of his back, and settled into a crouch near one of the walls. He nodded a few times to himself, his lips moving.

Then he attacked.

Flurries of ice-knives flew at me as he threw himself forwards. I caught a few on the star-silver blades and phased through the rest of them. The strange metal sparked green where ever the icy blades struck, the blades melting instantly. Slightly distracted by the thrown knives, I didn't register how close Slasher had gotten until he was right _there_.

He slashed with a knife at my head, barely blinking when I managed to deflect it with a blade and his knife disintegrated in his grasp. His other hand moved forwards, a long icy rapier stabbing for my abdomen. "Die!" Slasher screamed, his blue eyes wild as they stared into my green ones from mere inches away.

What happened next I can barely believe. Almost on its own, my arm (the one that hadn't deflected the first knife) flicked out. It crossed in front of my body, the blade catching Slasher's thrusting arm in the wrist. Without any sort of resistance, the sharp metal slid through Slasher's arm and continued upwards. His eyes widened at the sudden pain. Before he could do more than open his mouth to shout, my blade completed its stroke my making a sharp turn at Slasher's neck. I sliced from left to right, cutting cleanly through his neck.

Slasher's mouth moved a few times as I backed up. Sparkles of green energy – left from the blade – danced around the thin line on his neck. Slowly, green blood started to ooze out of the cut. Slasher giggled softly as he sank to the ground. "Slow…" he breathed. Then his head toppled from his shoulders and he disintegrated.

My arms were trembling as I stared at the pile of goop that had been Slasher. My mouth worked a few times, trying to speak. There was no way I could pass this off as not my fault.

I had killed.

On purpose.

His existence had ended… and it was completely my fault.

The gears in my head ground to a stop as that thought filled my mind. I could feel the tears start trickling down my face but I could do nothing to stop them. I didn't want to.

For some reason, I raised my gaze from the muddy ground to the cheering stands. The ghosts were going nuts. Even the ones that had bet against me were cheering, hollering, and jumping around. All except for one.

The ghost was wearing a long, dark green cloak and was standing still in the midst of the partying crowd. His hood hid everything about his face except for the round, glowing green eyes that were staring at me. The mysterious ghost raised one hand, his five fingers splayed as he acknowledged my gaze, the lights sparkling off of his silver hand. He nodded at me once, and then turned around and vanished into the crowd.

As the guards carefully approached me to escort me out of the pit, I looked once more at the place where Slasher had died. Tonight, I knew that two sets of eyes – one purposeful green, the other a demented blue – would haunt my dreams.

* * *

_The young woman in the cell shook her head softly as she reached the end of the page. "I'm glad I don't have to ever meet that ghost," she said, "but that poor boy… forced to kill over and over?"_

_She jerked as a weight suddenly dropped onto her shoulder. Her head flipped around to stare straight into the eyes of the black and blue rat that had scared her before. It was perched on her shoulder, its light blue tail coiling delicately around her neck. She took a few slow breaths, but the rat didn't seem to make a move. It twitched its whiskers._

_Finally she relaxed. "You're the disappearing rat," she pronounced. "Will you get off of my shoulder?"_

_For an answer, the rat tightened its tail slightly and settled onto her shoulder. She sighed, but merely shook her head and let its stay. "Depressing cell, dark, looming future, dripping water… it needed a rat in order to finish the cliché." She chuckled mournfully._

_Then she turned the page..._


	5. Interlude: Walker

_The young woman stared confusedly at the page before her in the journal. It was not written in the boy's normal, sloppy handwriting. This writing was small and neat, perfectly spaced. It looked almost like it had been typed._

_What was most interesting, however, was the fact that the page was not part of the original notebook. The paper was a yellowish color against the white paper of the rest of the notebook and it was loose, having been placed carefully in the notebook at this point. She picked up the page, flipping it over. The story written on it was rather short. "It's not part of the boy's story…" she murmured._

_On her shoulder, the black and blue rat chattered softly. It pressed a cold nose into her neck._

_She put the page back into the book and settled down against the wall to continue reading. After a few moments, the rat put its head on its paws and gazed down at the paper as well. Laughing quietly, the young woman started to read aloud…_

* * *

My blue eyes glittered as I gazed into the mirror. I had watched the boy fight, not at all surprised when he had undergone his rather spectacular transformation. For a few seconds, I contemplated the figure that was standing in the middle of the pit, drained from his fight. I was pleased that the boy had won… a large part of my plan revolved around his extraordinary ability to beat the odds.

Then I touched the controls, panning the view over the ecstatic crowd, shaking my head as I watched the chaos of the Pits. Ghosts were being trampled left and right, fights breaking out amongst the partiers. I couldn't stop the small grin that crossed my face when I noticed a tall figure in a dark green cloak. Pausing the mirror for a moment on the ghost's silver face, my mind raced as I tried to think about why _he_ would risk that much to watch the boy fight. The boy must mean more to the cloaked figure than I had originally anticipated.

Dismissing the rebellious ghost with a shake of my head – it wasn't that important in the long run – I tapped the controls and the scene began to scroll before me once more. The view finally reached over the top of the crowd and centered on a large room located at the top of the Pits. This was the area reserved for two types of spectators: either for very special guests or for the warden himself.

Normally, these ornately decorated box-seats were kept extraordinarily neat and clean. The white walls scrubbed of any grime or ghostly mildew, the floor meticulously swept, the small tables polished, and the comfortable chairs perfectly placed and the cushions fluffed daily.

Today, however, the box was a disaster. Walker's wonderfully gilded chair was smashed into a million pieces and his antique side table was overturned and shattered. Even the walls were covered in the glowing remnants of Walker's fury. I narrowed my eyes, watching the warden closely as he picked up a shattered table leg and snapped it over the head of a hapless guard. For the first time, his desiccated body actually looked like it belonged in that stupidly over-decorated room.

Walker paced back and forth in his special box, keeping his boots out of the slowly increasing pool of ectoplasm that had recently been a very unlucky guard, his raisin-like eyes glaring down into the pit. I chuckled at the warden's angry posture, reaching over and carefully manipulating the controls. The picture on the mirror changed slightly, narrowing its focus so that only Walker filled the view. I touched another button and smiled as Walker's voice began filtering through the scene.

"…how did he win?" Walker growled. He walked up to the edge of the box and braced his dried-out fingers against the railing. "That's two he's won. That rule-breaker… Slasher… he let me down."

Drumming his fingers and thinking, his eyes drifted over the partying crowd before a chilling smile settled onto this face. I shivered as the sound of his stretching, crackling, dry skin filtered over the speakers. "His next fight will bring in lots of new patrons." He turned around and stalked across the box towards the door. My claws flew over the controls to my ancestor's mirror… I wanted to follow him to figure out what the insane warden was up to next. My plan could easily be thrown off course by a strange turn of Walker's crazed thoughts.

When Walker spoke again, his voice still rippled with anger, but it had a strange undercurrent of excitement. "New customers mean good business." He grabbed the handle and hesitated, eyes almost closed. Suddenly he nodded and yanked the door open. "Bullet!" he hollered. I winced away from the mirror as the raspy hiss of his yell echoed through me and made my ears ring.

"Boss?" the ghost replied almost instantly, appearing by his side.

"Get me the list of ghosts fighting tomorrow. I'm going to personally handpick who the punk fights against."

Bullet nodded and vanished. Walker began to pace down the whitewashed hallway, rubbing his hands together and grinning. The picture on the mirror followed him perfectly, the point of view seeming to dance dizzily from one side of the corridor to the other. When the ghost deputy arrived back with the list, Walker grabbed the list and scanned it, murmuring to himself.

"Boss?" the deputy interrupted. "You may want to try Specter. She hasn't won many fights yet, but she's a powerful fighter. She may be able to beat Phantom."

Walker laughed and Bullet cringed away from the dripping wickedness in the powerful ghost's voice. "Don't you get it, Bullet?" he cooed. "I don't want Phantom to _lose_ anymore. Not yet, anyway."

Bullet blinked. "Then… what do you want?"

"I want him _broken_. As an added bonus, we'll pull in customers like never before." Walker took his bloody, rusty knife out of his pocket and used it to point to a name on the page. "The punk fights this one. Make sure the entire Ghost Zone knows." He tossed the list back at Bullet and strode off.

I let Walker walk away, focusing the mirror to try and see the read Walker had pointed to. The smaller deputy wrinkled his forehead. "Doric?" he muttered. "A 0-J newbie?" Bullet shook his head and rolled the list up into a tight cylinder, stuffing it into a pocket. "Well, I guess we can guarantee that Phantom won't lose to _him._"

Bullet rolled up his list and turned to leave, but not before raising his hand and seeming to take a swipe at me through the mirror. "Pesky ghost lights," he hissed.

On my side of the mirror, I laughed. I let the screen lose focus on its target and the view began to drift aimlessly. Split-second snapshots of ghost and human prisoners flickered on the screen as the mirror flickered between cameras. I barely registered the pictures as I contemplated what I wanted to do next. It was a huge long shot… but I needed to know. The knowledge of what was going on elsewhere was crucial to my plan.

I tapped the controls carefully, directing a few of the flares to search for a new target. On the screen, the mirror flashed a few more times before it settled on a view of the very edge of the Pits. The view leapt forwards as the ghost light received its instructions, dashing out into the chaos of the Ghost Zone and leaving the relative safety of the Pits behind. Within seconds, I had sent out seven flickers of light into the green abyss. Hopefully one of them would survive long enough to reach its target.

Settling back into an easy crouch, I turned the view on the mirror away from the speeding lights and back onto the boy. His white hair snapped into focus, green eyes blazing as he fought against the guards trying to hold him in place. One guard was attempting to remove the boy's blades. I chuckled, knowing full well that the poor ghost would fail. _Psychosomatic connection indeed._

Finally, I rested my head on my paws and wrapped my tail around my feet, watching the scene play out before me. It was now a waiting game. Wait for the boy to fall apart. Wait for the "rebel" in green to make his move. Wait for the time to be right. And, most of all, wait for my little flickers of light to find their target: the boy's family.

* * *

_The young woman shook her head, annoyed. "Who wrote that?" she wondered, glancing down at the little rat still perched on her shoulder. "The friend mentioned?"_

_The rat blinked up at her before jumping off of her shoulder and racing under the hard cot. She watched it go, tilting her head to the side to keep it in view. When the rat reached the far corner of the cell, it vanished. "And why is it that _you_ can seem to get through the walls and this boy couldn't?"_

_Her head fell back against the wall and she groaned, tossing the notebook away from her. "I'm trapped in some sort of 'Ghost Zone', about to die, and what do I care about? Some silly story? What's wrong with me?"_

_For a few seconds, the cell was silent. Suddenly, the heavy, wooden door snapped and creaked, opening nearly a foot. The girl was on her feet in seconds, tensely waiting for the guard to appear. Instead, a roughly circular metal disk was tossed into the room, followed quickly by a long-fingernailed hand and a large ladle. The hand dropped a glob of bluish gunk onto the disk and pulled back out of the room just as the door snapped shut again._

_The young woman crept over to the door, her eyes flickering from the… food… to the door and back. Slowly she picked up the dish and retreated back to her corner. On the way, she stooped to grab the notebook. After settling down, the oatmeal-like substance balanced precariously on her lap, she riffled through the notebook._

_"Page 4…" she read softly…_


	6. Page 4

Slasher disintegrated right in front of my eyes, slowly disintegrating into a pile of goo. "I… I… I…" I stammered, backing away from the growing puddle of glowing mud. "But I…"

The leather collar around my neck suddenly sparkled to life, wrenching a scream out of my mouth and making me collapse to the ground in pain. Before I could do more than get back onto my hands and knees, the guards grabbed me and twisted my arms painfully behind my back. Still blinking stars out of my eyes, they 'walked' me out of the Pit, through a set of doors, and down a dark corridor.

"Let go of me," I snapped, struggling against the guards' hands when the last tingles of energy stopped flowing around my body and I was able to move without being in lots of pain.

"Shut up." One of the guards kicked my feet out from under me and I collapsed, face-down, onto the floor. "Get them blades off him."

I twisted my arms against their cold hands, arching my back, and doing anything I could think of to get out of their grasp. Nothing helped. Suddenly I felt a cold hand wrap itself around… the _blade_ and tug. "Stop that!" I yelped at the sharp pain.

"Th-they st-stuck," one of the guards stammered after a few futile tugs. "Wh-what we do?"

"Cut them off?" another guard offered and I caught a sparkle of light reflecting off a knife's blade before it dug into my arm. I hissed at the pain, feeling the blood trickling coldly down my arm and oozing into my shirt. Closing my eyes, I tensed my arms and kicked out with my feet. My root foot connected solidly with something and I heard a yelp of surprise as one of the ghosts' arms vanished.

The rest of the guards reacted before I could move anymore. My arms were jerked sharply away from my body, bowing my back to try and relieve the pain. To make matters worse, the collar around my neck suddenly sparked to life. Screaming, I twitched as electricity zapped through me. After what felt like an eternity, it cut off and I sank back against the table, breathing quickly. "Stop moving, prisoner!" a guard snarled in my ear.

I twisted my head to send him a pain-filled glare. "Stop cutting open my arm."

"Wh-what we d-do now?" the guard on my other side stammered.

"They comin' off?" the ghost I was glaring at asked. He tapped his crocked teeth with his fingers as he stared at the other ghosts over my head.

"Nah, they connected good. We gotta cut off them arms to get 'em off."

Teeth-tapper continued to stare off into the distance. The other ghosts I could see seemed to be watching him, waiting for his decision. _Great,_ my thoughts drifted lazily underneath the pain and the terror that were coursing through me, _the leader of the pack is a moron._

"We leave 'em on," teeth-tapper finally decided. "Doc'll look at 'em later. Bring him back to his cell."

"Shower?" a guard on my other side rumbled.

He blinked his blue eyes and looked down at me. "No," he drawled, "don't wanna deal with him. He can shower after Doc sees him."

* * *

Back in my cell, I settled onto the edge my hard cot with a soft groan and tried to push the pain and fear out of my mind. I knew that dwelling on it would make it all worse. So I picked something to think about.

Those blades. I stared down at my arms, able to study them for the first time. They glittered like starlight in the flickering glow of the ghost lights. Even though they had sliced straight through Slasher, they were perfectly clean. There wasn't a trace of green ectoplasm in the tiny grooves along the sides… which was really odd since the rest of me was covered in drying, crusty, bloody, ectoplasmic muck.

My eyes trailed over the smooth edges of the blade from the tip down to the leather straps…

Which weren't there.

I reached up slowly and brushed my fingers along my dirty arm where the straps _should_ have been, a shudder wracking my body. Bringing my arm up closer to my face, I peered at the place where the silvery blade seemed to enter right into my pale, glowing skin. I flicked my finger against the blade, jumping slightly when I _felt_ it.

_Okay… that is…_

Closing my eyes, I slowly settled my arms onto my legs.

_Okay…_

I unclenched my fingers and tried to relax.

_Okay… I can handle this. I am NOT going to overreact. I am not going to…_

"AHH!" Something brushed against my leg. I yanked my feet up onto the cot, eyes flying open. There was _nobody _else in my room when I got here. I would have noticed. Unconsciously tensing for a fight, I snuck a glance over the edge of the bed, half-expecting some sort of monster or ghostly roommate.

Two glowing, blue eyes stared up at me from behind a tiny, black nose. I relaxed, letting out a breath. "Stupid rat," I sighed. "You scared me."

The rat's eyes narrowed, whiskers twitching. It blinked up at me.

"Where did you come from?" My eyebrows furrowed as I studied the rat's glistening fur. I crossed my arms, carefully avoiding slicing myself open with those… blades… which I did _not_ want to think about right then. "You weren't in here before."

Of course, the rat didn't answer. It just watched me for a moment before ducking back under the cot. I leaned over to watch it go. The glowing rat scurried to the back corner of the cell, glanced over its shoulder at me, and then walked straight through the wall.

For a few seconds, I just sat there, processing that.

"Wait…" I whispered. Sitting up, I leaned back against the wall and went intangible. The wall was totally solid. I twisted around and pressed one hand against the stones, focusing on getting through. Nothing. "How did…"

A thought filtered through my head. Quickly crawling under the bed, I slid over to the corner. I was going to try and stick my fingers into the corner and see if there was some kind of invisible hole, only my blades were in the way. My fingers were a full two feet from the wall when the tip of the blade nicked the rough stones.

Stymied, I drummed my fingers on the floor and accidentally banged my head against the underside of the cot. _If only the blades were intangible…_

With a startled blink, I turned my whole right arm intangible, grinning when the blade took on the same slightly blue cast as the rest of my arm. "Perfect." Again, I reached forward, this time probing the dark recesses of the cot with the razor point of my blade.

After a moment, I knew two things. One: there was no rat sitting invisibly in the corner. It would have been shish-kabobbed. Two: there was no rat hole in the corner. Even intangible, my blades were met with solid stone. I growled softly under my breath. "How did…OW!"

I had smacked my head against the hard cot once again. I crawled out from under the cot and sat cross-legged on the floor. Rubbing my head with one hand, grimacing at the feel of the crusty muck in my white hair, I closed my eyes. My mind was whirling in circles, trying to find something to settle on. It was like channel surfing at three in the morning: there was nothing on you _wanted _to watch.

Escape plans? Nope. That was an exercise in futility.

Slasher's deranged eyes? Definitely not.

What was going to happen next? Hell no.

My family? I actually shook my head at this thought.

Where the rat went? My brain processed this for a moment before deciding it had no actual thoughts on the subject. I had no clue where the rat went, where it came from, or how it got there.

I groaned, my mind drifting to the only topic left I could come up with to think about: those blades sticking… _into_… my arm. Slowly I eased my eyes open, glanced down at the blades. Shimmering hypnotically in the dim lights, I traced the edge of the blade with my finger tip. I shivered. It was like running a finger over your arm – I could _feel_ it. It was so weird.

It was almost like the blades were now a part… of… me…

My breath caught in my throat as that thought echoed through my mind. Another followed right behind it, this one slightly more terrifying. _What about when I turn human?_

I almost didn't want to think about it. The blades were physically attached to me in ghost mode, would it be the same in human mode? I stared at the blades in fascinated horror, debating between triggering the transformation back to human and just sitting there in ghost mode for the rest of eternity. The thought of seeing these blades sticking out of my arm when I was human made my stomach twist.

Then, before I could get stuck in an endless mental argument, I reached for the warm, heavy feeling trapped in the corner of my mind. Silver light exploded around me, gravity pressing down on me again. My eyes were locked on a patch of skin just below my arm. The place where the leather straps were going to appear.

The light danced across my arm, changing the deadly pale skin back to my normal shade. My whole body twitched and my once-again beating heart stopped for a second. There were no straps.

Panting shallowly, I slammed my eyes shut and tried desperately to process the thought. No straps had appeared. I did _not_ want to see those blades attached to my human skin. My head started to spin moments before the vague thought that I was probably hyperventilating crossed my mind.

_I need to stop this. This is no way for a hero to act. It's just a bit of metal. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine…_

I forced my breathing to slow down, focusing on repeating that phrase to myself. _I'm fine. I'm fine._ "I'm fine," I whispered. Letting out a long breath, I repeated it once more. "I'm fine. I've handled all sort of weird things. I can handle this."

My eyes flickered open and gazed across the room, not risking glancing down at the arms resting in my lap. "I can do this. I'm fine. I…" My gaze fell down to my arms and I trailed off in astonishment.

_There were no blades._

"Where…" I raised my arm and stared at it closely, then ran my hand all over my arm. I frantically examined every inch of both of my arms, twisting them around. "…did…"

"They're not there," I breathed. A bubble of happiness rose up from my stomach, a smile flickering onto my face. "They're not there!" I jumped to my feet and laughed. Eyes glittering with barely contained joy, I threw my arms into the air and screamed. "They're not there!"

"I'm not a freak," I laughed, "at least not more than normal." I dropped back onto the cot, wincing as my tailbone connected with the hard board under the thin blankets. Propping my feet up on one end of the cot, I laced my fingers together under my head and watched the ghost lights dance across the ceiling. "They're not there," I informed them after a moment.

Two of the ghost lights twirled over my head, racing each other from one end of the room to the other. Another spun like a crazy St. Catherine's Wheel in the corner. The rest waltzed lazily in bizarre patterns around the room, never pausing in their endless movements.

My brief bit of manic energy spent and a pervasive tiredness pressing in on me, I yawned and let my mind drift. _One_, I counted, eyes half-shut as the lights danced before me. _Two, three, four._ My breathing slowed. _Five, six, seven, eight._

Dimly, my brain registered that there was something wrong with that. But I had already sunk too far into my exhausted sleep to care.

* * *

"YAHH!" I screamed, curling up into a little ball as greenish energy suddenly radiated out of my collar and played across my body. It stopped as quickly as it started, leaving me panting and staring around my empty room in painful surprise. I pushed myself into a sitting position, my arms still trembling.

The door creaked open, a guard sticking his head in and glancing at me before coming in the rest of the way. "He's awake," the ghost rumbled.

I stared at him for a second, but my gaze twisted away from him when someone new walked into the room. She was wearing a long, white lab coat that dangled down to her knees and shiny, black boots that came up to the tops of her calves. The woman had black hair that was pulled back in a ponytail that dangled down nearly to her waist. Her sparkling, emerald eyes glanced up at me from the clipboard she was carrying. My breath caught in my throat at the small smile that suddenly tugged at the corners of her mouth. She was beautiful.

"I thought you said I was treating a ghost," she said softly. Her eyebrows furrowed as she flipped through the pages on her clipboard. "Idiot ghost…"

"Nope," the ghost shook his head. "Phantom, room 143."

She sent him a short glare before blinking at me. "You're Phantom?"

I nodded silently. She chewed her lip, taking a step towards me before hesitating and flipping through her papers. "It says here you're a ghost." She shot me a quick smile. "But you obviously aren't dead." She took another step forwards, but stopped and wrinkled her nose, eyes flickering over my dirty, muck-encrusted clothing. "May I see your arms please?"

Shrugging, I held my arms out for her inspection. The woman walked forwards the rest of the way and ran her gloved fingers over my arms. "I'm Doctor Mary," she said softly, letting go of my arm. "The guards said your blades wouldn't come off? They had fused to your skin?" She shot me a confused look.

"They're gone," I said simply.

"How?" she wondered. Ignoring her own question, she pulled a needle out of her pocket and sent me another reassuring smile. "I need to draw some blood for some tests. All humans need to get tested for common spectral diseases, and your chart says you weren't." She laughed. "Probably because it says you're a ghost, huh?"

"Spectral diseases?" I watched as she tied a rubber tube around my arm and swabbed the inside of my elbow.

As she stuck the point into my skin, she mumbled, "Ectoacne, ghost flu, spectral pox, stuff like that." Pulling the needle out of my arm, she held the filled vial up and glanced at it. "Odd… high levels of ectocontamination already," she muttered. "Your blood is practically glowing."

She put the vial into her pocket and wrote on the chart for a second. "I'll get that tested right away." Doctor Mary smiled at me once more before turning away and starting for the door.

"What about his blades?" the guard rumbled.

"What about them?" she snapped back.

"Where are they?"

Mary glared at the ghost. "Do _you_ see any blades?" When the guard shook his head, she added, "Do you have any idea how to treat 'disappearing' blades?" She snorted and pushed past the guard. "I don't have any time to deal with your brainless problems."

"We can't leave him with blades." The guard held the door shut with one hand as she reached for the handle.

"Then take them away. I'm sure they're here somewhere. It's not _my_ problem if you can't find them." She tugged on the handle, but the ghost easily held the door shut. "Let me go, ghost."

"We can't leave a _ghost_ with blades," he insisted.

"That's not a ghost!" she shot me an odd look, rolling her eyes. "Are all ghosts blind as well as stupid?"

"Yes, he is a ghost."

"Really," she sighed, crossing her arms.

"He's a halfa." The guard leered at me for a moment.

"A what?" Mary asked sourly. She shook her head. "Do I really care? Let me go."

"He's half ghost," the guard pressed. "He _was_ a ghost when the blades were stuck to him."

She raised an eyebrow, staring at him in stark disbelief. "Do you," she asked softly, "have _any_ idea how much ectoenergy it would take to convert human cells into a stable spectral form? That amount of energy would kill a human long before that could happen. It's not possible."

"He is, though."

Mary sighed deeply, closing her eyes. "I'm surrounded my idiots today." She turned to me and shot me a smile, her emerald eyes glittering in the ghost lights. "We can clear this up really easily. Are you half ghost?"

Startled at suddenly rejoining the conversation, I hesitated. Mary's smile faltered. After a few seconds of silence, I slowly nodded my head. Her smile faded the rest of the way, her sparkling eyes losing their inner light.

She glared at me with suddenly dead eyes. "Where are your blades… ghost?" she spat at me.

I blinked at her sudden change in personality, sliding backwards on the cot. "I… I don't know," I whispered.

Mary snarled, flipping through her charts, mumbling to herself. "_It_'s probably developed some sort of spectral connection to the ectoluminum in the blades." Her cold eyes flickered from me to the clipboard and back. "If your description of the problem is at all accurate," she said scathingly to the ghost, "which I personally doubt, then the blades have probably fused into _it_'s ghost form. They'll be back next time _it_ turns into a ghost." She slammed her pen down on the clipboard and twirled around to glare at the spectral guard. "And, most likely, just as irremovable. Now, may I leave?"

With one more glance at me, the ghost escorted Doctor Mary out of my room and locked the door behind them. I was left alone, sitting on the cot, completely confused.

_Spectral connection?_

_Ectoluminum?_

I bristled slightly. _It?!_ _Why did I become an 'it'?_

For a moment, I let myself enjoy the toe-curling feeling of annoyed rage. Then I shook myself out of it, allowing the next thought to slip into my brain. _They'll be back…_

Pushing the pretty doctor and her confusing behavior out of my mind, I stared down at my human arms. Did I even want to know? I never wanted to see that silvery metal sticking out of my arms ever again.

I groaned and collapsed back down on the bed, burying my head in my pillow. I tried to go back to sleep, I really did. But the thought of those blades on my arms kept flittering through my mind like an obsessive firefly.

Finally, with a sigh, I sat up and felt for the cold, powerful, weightless feeling I kept locked up in the far corner of my head. As silver light swirled into existence around me, I shut my eyes.

* * *

I was firmly back in human mode when the door slammed open. I glanced up, expecting to see Doctor Mary again. Even though she obviously had some problem with ghosts, she was better than the alternative. Imagine my disappointment when a certain dried-out warden stormed into my room. 

"Punk," he snarled.

"What?" I asked, getting to my feet.

"You are a disappointment," he snapped. "I throw you in those fights to die, and what do you do? You win." He crossed his arms and glared at me. "But I can work with that. What I need now is to make sure we are on the same page so it doesn't happen again."

"Same page?" I repeated softly.

Walker's eyes narrowed darkly at my quiet words. "One must _speak up_ when spoken to. If you can't remember that, we'll have to give you _lessons_." The knife glittered in his fingers for a moment as he leered at me. "Clear?"

I nodded, taking a small step backwards. "Same page?" I asked again, a little louder.

Walker seemed satisfied. "Yes. You see, boy, I need you to win."

I stared at him in amazement. Like I _wanted_ to lose? If you lost it meant you _died_. Of course I was going to win.

Walker nodded, a grin brushing at his cracking lips. "Win. Some ghosts lose the desire to win after a few fights, so I dredged up something to help… _motivate _you." He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and his dried-out eyes took on a manic glint. "Do you want to know what it is?"

I was still gazing at him. I still hadn't completely processed the idea that Walker wanted me to win. My sleep-deprived brain wrapped up in contemplating that, I missed the fact that he had asked me a question.

Walker stepped up to me, his shriveled nose a hair from touching mine. I focused on him, swallowing hard as my mind finally caught up and started digging around for an answer to his question. His scraggly, dirty hair brushed into my face. "You want to know something, punk?"

I gazed into his desiccated eyes. From this close, I could clearly see the weathered lines snaking out from the corners of his eye sockets. "What?"

His eyes narrowed and he pulled back out of my face. "You don't seem to care what I have to say," he hissed and glanced down at his feet. Whispering crazily, he said, "One must listen when one is spoken to." He turned his head to glare at me, raising his voice. "Should we _make_ you listen?"

The bloody, rusty knife appeared in his hands like magic. It twirled and glittered in the greenish glow of the ghost lights. I could very clearly remember what happened last time Walker and that knife can into contact with me. My arm was still aching from our first torture session.

"I'm listening," I muttered.

"One must speak up when spoken to," Walker hissed, the knife jumping forwards and slicing lightly into my stomach.

My eyes widened in pain. I pressed a hand to the slice on my abdomen, taking a half-step backwards and tripping onto the cot. The rusty point of the knife danced back into view just beyond the tip of my nose. "I'm listening!" I all but screamed.

Walker nodded, a satisfied smile twisting his face. "Good." The knife vanished back into a pocket. He brought the small bit of paper forwards and pressed it into my hand, curling my fingers tightly around it. "You _will_ win the next fight," he said softly. I glanced down at the paper, flipping it over. It was a photograph of three people: Mom, Dad, and my sister. My head jerked back up, eyes widening at the barely concealed threat.

I pushed my back against the wall, one arm wrapped tightly around my bleeding stomach, the other clutching the photo. My mouth was dry as I stared into his scarred and weathered face. He knelt down, inching closer and closer, his eyes calm and crazy. "There _will_ be a Fenton in my Pits." Shrunken eyes stared straight into mine. His cold, leathery nose brushed my cheek, causing a shiver to run down my back. "Whether or not it's _you_ fighting is up to you," his voice was rustling leaves in my ears, "understand me punk?"

I just stared at him as my stomach flipped over and frozen fingers of terror worked their way into my gut. I couldn't bring myself to do anything but just sit there as he backed off and stood up. Slowly, my gaze fell down to the picture. Mom was sitting at the kitchen table, her head buried in her arms. Dad was standing over her, caught in the act of reaching out to comfort her. Standing in the doorway, Jazz was swiping at tears on her face. It was a recent picture, that much was sure. A very recent picture. Almost unconsciously, my finger brushed over a wrinkle in the photograph, smoothing it out.

"You understand," Walker stated. I didn't look up. "I'm looking forward to watching you win your next fight."

I flinched slightly as the door slammed shut, but I couldn't wrench my eyes away from the picture of my family. When the photo suddenly became blurry, I brushed at my face angrily and looked up. The back of my head thumped against the wall as I stared dazedly towards the rough door. My mind was blank, my fingers numb.

I have no idea how long I sat there. Minutes? Hours? Already my sense of time was growing hazy. Locked in the depths of fear, I couldn't think or move. My whole being was centered on the horror of what was happening to me and the hopelessness of everything.

A point of cold, frozen ice touching my arm made my jump. Crouched, unnoticed, by my leg was that peculiar rat from before. Its blue eyes were staring into mine, one small, chill paw was resting softly on my leg. It must have bumped me with its nose. A flicker of a smile crept onto my face at the rat's seeming display of concern, but then I noticed what it was standing on.

My eyes widened. "Get off of that!" Screaming, I batted the rat across the room with the back of my hand. I scooped the slightly damp photograph off the ground and cradled it to my chest; I must have dropped it earlier. Glaring across the room, not even conscious of the fact that I had shifted into ghost mode, I watched the rat shake itself before slinking along the far wall and vanishing under the cot. "Don't touch my family," I whispered to the empty room.

Clutching the picture to me, I curled up into a little ball. "I won't let anything happen to you," I vowed. I carefully touched each person in the picture before pressing it back against my chest. "I promise. I'd do anything to save you."

I was still sitting there hours later when the guards came for me.

* * *

"You're fighting Doric today," Former said as he moved his hand over a line of text in his humongous book. "Class J newbie. Shouldn't be much of a fight."

I was back in human mode, staring down at the stones that made up the floor. "You need a rug," I muttered aimlessly. My mind was still back in my cell, focused on the photograph of my family. The guards had, despite my protests, yanked the picture out of my fingers, crinkled it up into a ball, and tossed it into a corner. It was probably ruined by the water on the floor.

My dazed eyes watched the toe of my shoes dig into the roughly-hewn stones. I was barely registering what the dark man was saying. "…barely can fly, much less put up much of a struggle. Don't know why the warden picked you two to fight…" I let his voice drift through me as my mind slid in and out of focus.

Suddenly, my head was twisted around. Former's strong fingers were clenched around my chin, pulling my eyes up into his. "Focus," he snapped. "Or do you _want_ to lose?"

I blinked at him. _Do I want to lose? Do I? Just stop all this nonsense?_

His brown eyes softened. "You're just a kid," he whispered, "but you can't give up. Not yet. You can beat this."

_I can beat this? How can I beat Walker? He's two steps ahead of me and there's nothing I can do about it._

His fingers were warm on my chin. They slid over to grasp my shoulder tightly, his eyes never wavering. "You can," he muttered softly. "I'm not completely sure what you are, kid," a hint of a smile dusted his face, "but I believe in you."

I closed my eyes, wrapping my arms tightly around my still throbbing stomach.

"I've watched hundreds of humans and ghosts lose the fight before they even walk into those pits," Former sighed. "You can see it in their eyes. They stop caring, their minds break, and Walker wins. Each time someone gives up, Walker gets a little stronger. He wins a little more." Former's voice trailed off, like he was lost in a distant memory. "But each soul that fights weakens him. Every person that _doesn't_ give in to him wins, no matter the outcome of the actual fight."

"Besides," he said lightly, "don't you have anything to fight for?"

_Mom… Dad… Jazz… I'd do anything to save them…_

"You can't give up yet."

I opened my eyes to smile sadly at him. "You're right," I whispered.

His eyes flickered from my mouth back to my eyes. "I'm always right," his eyes sparkled. Then his forehead furrowed, eyes drifting over my muck-covered clothes and the dried ectoplasm in my hair. "Didn't they remember to give you a shower yesterday?"

Shooting him a small smile, I shook my head.

* * *

The guards pushed me towards the ground, using me as a launch pad to get past the shield as quickly as possible. I stumbled in the muddy sand; it was slippery and dark with gallons of spilt blood and ectoplasm. The cheers and screams of the crowd cranked up in volume as I went ghost. Sliver light sparkled around me: my dirty clothes became jet black, my white hair flopped into my electric eyes, and my blades flashed into existence once more. I tensed, crouching low to the ground as I searched for my opponent.

I was, for once, ready to defend myself the second the guards had let me go.

However… nothing was attacking.

I straightened, my eyes straining in the dim lights of pit two. There was a shape at the other side of the pit, short, squat, and vaguely glowing. I raised my blades defensively before me, waiting for the ghost to attack.

It didn't move.

My mind was screaming in a dozen different directions as it tried to figure out what was going on. _Is this some kind of plot? Does he have a special power that lets him attack from a distance?_ I waited, tense, at my end of the pit.

And still the ghost didn't move.

Around me, the crowd was getting louder. They were screaming and hollering, the ghost shield above my head flickering and flashing as it deflected various thrown bits of trash. Apparently they wanted me to do something. Although I loathed doing what those blood-thirsty idiots wanted, they did have a point. Standing still was getting nothing done.

Carefully, I took a step forward. The noise level in the pit instantly dropped as I gained the crowd's attention. Another step, squinting my eyes to see in the deep shadows. A third step. The short figure didn't move.

A dozen slow paces later and I was standing just outside the ghost's reach. I stared down at him in amazement. The ghost was barely human – thick, black fur stuck out of the various rips and holes of his muddy Pits uniform. Two rounded ears poked out of his long, matted hair and his fingers were tipped with silvery claws. Most surprising was the long, snake-like tail.

I shifted, my blades clinking together softly, feeling like I was tapping my fingers together. The ghost's ears twitched, and instantly he was on his feet. The coarse, black fur continued on his human-like face, ruffled and muddy. He snarled at me, fang-like teeth flashing in the dim light, and he leapt backwards out of my reach. Landing in a crouch, the ghost growled and tensed its claws. Two dimly glowing green eyes stared at me though the darkness.

Slipping into a simple battle stance, blades crossed at about neck level, I waited, watching the ghost. Every time the panther-human ghost shifted, I tensed, ready for his attack. Every time I tensed, I watched him freeze, claws ready. It was like a bad dance.

That was went I noticed it. A pearlescent tear trickling down the furred cheek. I blinked, trying hard to figure that one out. Why would the ghost be crying?

Then, slowly, I lowered my blades. The ghost's eyes widened, watching me. By the time I had dropped them to my sides, the ghost had relaxed slightly, his hands dropping down away from his face. We stared at each other.

I got it. He didn't want to fight either. I smiled at him, watching him relax and shoot me an uneasy grin. "Phantom," I said, carefully pointing to myself.

The ghost nodded. "Doric," he purred. His voice was soft, his words mangled by the fangs in his mouth. "I no wish fight."

The volume of the crowd was growing again. They were screaming and yelling – bloody murder being shouted into oblivion. I spoke to him over the noise. "Why are you in here?"

"I not know," he said. "I not guilty of crimes." The ghost sank down onto his haunches, perfectly balanced on the balls of his feet in the muddy sand, tail curled tightly around his ankles. He rested his hands on his knees. "I wish leave. You know how?"

I shook my head.

"Fight," a dry voice commanded above our heads. I twisted around to glare at the person I knew that voice belong too. Our favorite ghost: the warden.

"He doesn't want to," I snapped back.

"So?" Walker leaned forwards in his throne-like chair, desiccated eyes glaring into mine. "There's only two ways out of this pit, boy."

"What he mean?" Doric asked softly, his green eyes flickering uneasily between me and the spectral sheriff.

I crossed my arms, carefully trying not to slice my own fingers off with those blades. _Two ways out of the pit: either dead or the winner. What wonderful choices. _"He doesn't want to fight."

"_You _want to fight," Walker rasped, his voice slicing easily through the raucous crowd. "Because you remember what will happen if you do not." Walker's bloody knife sparkled in the light from his box.

Oh yes. I remember. I could feel my eyes burn as they flared in anger.

I don't want to fight.

My eyes dropped to the bloody mud, gazing at the odd green and red swirls. They mixed and flowed around my feet, tie-dying my white shoes in a garish holiday pattern. For some reason, my mind fixed on the question of why human blood and ghost blood doesn't mix. Like oil and water. Like ghosts and humans.

"Fight," Walker hissed. He leaned back, smiling at me with his discolored teeth.

I don't want to fight. I haven't fought any ghosts yet, not really. I've always been on self-defense mode, I don't start the fights.

A thick stream of fresh, red blood trickled through the mud and flowed up against my shoe, staining my entire left foot a dark red. A vision of my mother, standing in the Pits like I was, flashed through my mind.

I closed my eyes. My father, lying dead on the ground before an insane ghost. My sister, running in terror, but being cut down. A cold wetness sparkled on my face as my brain pushed images of death and torture into my mind. If I didn't fight, if I _lost_, then there was no telling what Walker would do to them. He was crazy enough to do anything.

Walker asked me what my family meant to me. He asked what I'd do to protect them. I said I'd do anything. My fingers clenched into fists, my arms trembled with the tension that was flooding through me. _I'd do anything to protect them._

When I looked up, Doric was staring at me, his eyes confused. Slowly, I raised my hands before me, sliding into a battle stance. The panther-ghost tensed, sliding back a step.

"Attack," I whispered.

He dropped into a lower crouch, his claws coming up to protect his face. "What going on?" he repeated.

"Attack me," I said, just a little louder. I took a step forwards, the blades glinting before my eyes.

"No," Doric said softly. "I no wish attack." He lowered his arms, his green eyes boring into mine. "And you neither."

I hesitated, watching the calm ghost gaze at me. Letting my blades drop a bit, one of the shiny surfaces caught the light and threw it into my eyes. I stared at the mirror-like flat of the blade, seeing my own green eyes gazing back at me. In the spectral green, I could see my family, standing together. They were counting on me. "No," I said quietly. "I don't want to fight." I brought the blades back up and turned my eyes on the ghost. "But I have to."

He blinked. "_I_ do not." His eyes were calm.

Silence fell between us. "Then you will die."

He just stared at me. "If you kill."

"Fight," Walker prodded. The crowd picked it up, began to chant.

"Attack me." I took a few steps towards Doric, watching him back away from me. The black panther shook his head, long hair flying around him. "Fight me," I said again.

Again, Doric shook his head. "You wish fight," he whispered, barely loud enough to be heard over the chanting crowd, "not me to start it."

My teeth clenched. A picture of my mother, dying in the Pits, flittered through my brain. _I would do anything… _"Fight me!" I screamed, launching myself at the ghost.

He dodged, leaping away from my swiping blades. I landed on my feet, sliding in the muck and barely keeping my balance. Twisting around, I followed the panther's quick movements with my eyes. They must have been blazing with the roiling emotions I was feeling. I did not _want_ to fight. Yet each time I hesitated, I could clearly see my family, dying because of me.

Sorrow, terror, panic, and the excitement brought on by adrenaline crashed together in my brain. My whole body was shaking with the energy that was coursing through it. Breath rasping in my tightening throat, my mind raced. To save my family, I needed to win this fight.

There can only be one winner.

The loser's consolation prize is quick, sure, and never deviating.

To live is to win. To lose is to die.

My family's lives rested on me winning this fight.

Winning this fight rested on me making sure the other ghost lost.

Making sure the other ghost… died…

To win, I needed to kill.

_To save my family, I would do anything._

My eyes hardened. I'm sure that Doric saw me come to my conclusion, saw my body posture change. No longer was I going to be attacking him in the hopes that he would attack me back.

My feet slid apart, my legs flexing. Now I was attacking and I wasn't going to be holding back.

Doric was going to die.

I pushed against the ground, throwing myself into the air. The ground was too slippery for me to run on; I'd fall and be killed. Hovering above the ground, bloody mud dripping off of my shoes, I focused on the ghost.

Doric was crouched at the other end of the dim pit, silver claws out and ready to be used. His dim green eyes were staring at me, watching my every move.

I raised my arm, the blade pointing directly at the panther-ghost. Freezing ectoplasm swirled down my arm and pooled in my hand, making the silvery ectoluminum blade glow and sparkle. I spread my fingers, the blast charging. I released it… but it didn't do what I expected.

It _should_ have just flown past my fingers. Instead, it swirled between my fingers then arched back over my wrist. My eyes widened as the green energy snaked around my arm, then cascaded up onto the blade. The energy collected on the silvery metal, flaring and building. It glowed brighter and brighter, until, with an almost audible crack, it blazed along the blade and blasted through the air.

The flare of energy slammed into the ground a few feet to Doric's left and exploded. I raised my arm to deflect the mud and blood that was flying through the air.

In the dead silence that followed, I could hear my own breathing rasping in the dry air. Hundreds of globs of mud sizzled against the ghost shield and Doric was lying, unmoving on the ground. The blast had formed a five-foot wide crater in the floor.

If you compare my normal ectoblasts to a standard police handgun – that blast had been a grenade launcher. I stared at the hole, barely noting that Doric had struggled to his feet and limped away from the crater. As the crowd started to whisper again, my eyes flickered down to the once-again silvery blades, then back up. _What the…_

Whimpering filtered into my ears. I glanced up, dazed, and flinched away from the terror-filled eyes of my opponent. My feet unexpectedly hit the ground and I stumbled a bit. My brain wasn't working; it was backfiring steadily. _What…_

"Fight," Walker's voice sliced through the silence. The crowd picked up on his raspy command, echoing it around the huge space. "Fight, fight, fight, fight."

I glanced back down at my blades, then focused on the limping Doric. _Think about it later. _A vision of my family locked in the dark flooded through my mind. _I can't think about it now._

I drifted back up into the air, carefully to keep my hands from forming ectoblasts. I glared at Doric, my mind settling back into battle mode. _I need to fight._

Throwing myself through the air, I listened to the air whistle past the sharp edges of the blade as I raced through the air towards the panther-ghost. At the last instant, Doric dodged to the side, his claws snaking out to tag my leg. I yelped, clamping a hand over my sliced leg. I turned, still hovering, watching Doric limp away from me. He glanced over his shoulder at me, eyes wide in fear.

With his back turned, I blasted towards him, my blades up to cut at him. He never knew I was coming… or he knew and refused to turn back to look. My mind whirled as it began to comprehend what was about to happen. My arm reached back, then began to slash through the air towards Doric's back. My whole body spun, giving the blade more force.

The blade sliced through the air, ectoplasm fizzing along its length. Just before it carved into Doric, the silvery blade suddenly flared an electric emerald, the sword nearly doubling in length and sending sparks of energy drifting into the air. The blade sliced straight through the ghost's middle with barely any resistance.

My body had too much momentum. I continued to twist around, crashing into Doric's top half. It separated easily from the bottom half, the panther-ghost falling apart. I let my body slam into the mud, rolling to a stop, chest down in the mud.

As the crowd exploded, the roar becoming deafening, I tuned them out. Beside me, Doric disintegrated into nothing, his ectoplasm joining the rest to turn the muddy sand a bit more green. But I did nothing. I just laid there, cold, green mud seeping into my clothes, blood drying in my hair and stinging in my eyes, and cried.

_I would do anything…_

* * *

_The young woman's eyes widened as she read the notebook. "He… he… murdered that poor ghost? I never would have thought he'd sink to that."_

_She grabbed another hand-full of her slightly-blue food and popped it into her mouth. "It's not all that bad," she mumbled._

_"Interesting," she sighed, "but what about this rebel ghost in green? And LJ? I want to know more about _them_. And, come to think about it, doesn't this half-ghost have any ghost friends? Why don't they come to rescue him? Why hasn't his human family shown up yet?"_

_Captured by the story, wondering at the answers to her questions and what horrors the ghostly warden would pull next, she flipped the page…_


	7. Page 5

I lost my ghost form before the guards had even arrived to pick me up. The eerily glowing blades once again vanished in a sparkle of silver lights. No longer able to slice myself up, I curled into a little ball and buried my head in my hands. 

One of the guards kicked my foot. "Get up," he snapped at me.

I didn't want to get up. I didn't want to move. _Let me die…_

Visions of the dying ghosts played relentlessly through my mind. Crusher, coughing up blood as he helped me kill him. Slasher's head rolling on the ground, mouth moving soundlessly as he slowly evaporated into nothingness. Doric… calm Doric still refusing to fight, even at the end, his ectoplasmic blood leaked out of him as he fell in two pieces.

Ignoring the guards, I dug my fingers into my hair. _I can't do it anymore… I can't…_

Suddenly I was wrenched to my feet, a guard leering in my face. "Move it, kid." The ghost's green eyes flickered, and suddenly I was staring straight into Doric's eyes once more.

_No…_ I twisted in his grasp, barely aware that it wasn't really Doric before me. I could _see_ it. Green blood pooled around Doric's waist and streamed down to the ground. Lifeless green eyes stared accusingly at me. _No, no… I didn't… I can't…_

The guard let go and I dropped to my knees in the mud. From between the ghost's legs, I could see the remains of the panther-ghost, slowly disintegrating. I shut my eyes, pressing the heels of my palms into lids. Lights flashed and danced. _No… please… I didn't…_

"Move!" a guard yelled, grabbing my shoulder and pushing me backwards.

"Don't," I whispered. _Leave me alone… I just want to forget…_

A ghost planted a foot against my back and kicked, knocking me face-first into the bloody mud. "Get up," the guard snarled.

"Don't TOUCH me!" I screamed, eyes flaring green. In an instant, I was back in ghost form, blades flashing in the dim lights of pit two. The guards backed away, but not fast enough. I lashed out with one of the blades, slicing a long strip out of the nearest guard's chest. Spinning, I sliced a chuck out of another guard's leg. I twisted in a small circle, but now all the ghosts were out of range.

Tears were trickling down my cheeks. "I didn't _want_ to!" I cried. "Leave me alone."

One guard raised a baton, getting ready to slam it down on my head. "No!" I shrieked, the guards being thrust backwards at the force of my voice. Energy fizzled into existence all around me, the starlit blades capturing and focusing it before sent it sparking along their smooth lengths, tingling cold against my nerves. "Stay _away_!"

I glanced up just in time to see one of the uninjured guards pull a small box off of his belt and point it at me. The leather collar around my neck burned to life, forcing a ragged scream out of my lips and dissipating all the energy I'd managed to gather. I was back to human in a flare of light, twitching on the ground as the guard mercilessly continued to press the button.

When he finally quit, I just lay on the ground, panting. My whole body was burning, muscles twitching unconsciously. I let my eyes stay closed, reveling in the cool feeling of the damp sand as it pressed against my skin.

"Pick him up," a guard ordered.

It took a few seconds, but strong hands grabbed onto my arms and yanked me to my knees. Unable to stand on my own, I moaned as their grips on my arms made my shoulders twist painfully. They began to drag me through the mud and out of the pit.

I didn't care to look around; I stopped trying to do anything more. I just let them pull me out of the arena, through the darkly lit hallways and to a strange room, my mind blank and wondering. The guards, still holding tightly to me, pushed me under a stream of freezing water.

"Gah!" I spluttered, my eyes flashing open, struggling a bit. Four of the ghosts kept their strong grip on my arms as a fifth worked soap into my hair. The horrible smelling substance burned in my eyes and left a sour taste in my mouth. The bubbles trickled down my arms and soaked into my clothes, washing away the worst of the dried-in muck.

When they pulled me out of the cascade of ice water, my fingers and toes were numb enough to go with my broken mind. Things that happened after that were small flashes of scenes: shoes squelching against the floor; a bright blue light that mostly dried my hair and clothes; endless hallways of doors filled with moaning and screaming occupants; flashes of red numbers painted onto the doors like blood.

Room 143, my room, appeared before I had really comprehended the fact that we had walked that far. I blinked blearily at the large bloody "3" on my door before I was thrust into the room and the door was slammed shut behind him. Sinking to the floor, I didn't notice the bowl full of greenish food by my knees.

A vision of Doric's death flooded through my brain once more, his terror-filled eyes burned into my mind. "No…" I whispered. "Stop…"

Slowly the picture faded away, leaving me alone in my cell. I glanced around, swiping at a lone tear that had made it out of my eye. Not even the rat was there to keep me company. Pulling my knees up to my chest, I pressed my back against the door and stared distantly across my small room, feeling the day's exhaustion sneaking up on me.

With a flicker of memory, I was suddenly on my feet. My photograph…

I scrambled over to the corner were the guard had carelessly tossed my picture. It wasn't there. Frantically, I searched every corner of the room. It wasn't there. It _wasn't there_. "No!" I stood, trembling, in the middle of the room, slowly twisting in a circle. _Walker__'s not that cruel… he wouldn't take it…_

_Wait._ Something twitched on the cot. I raced over to it, staring down in disbelief at the photograph lying there. Uncrumpled, dry, and not-at-all wrecked, the picture was resting on the thin pillow.

In disbelief, I reached out and slowly picked up the picture. I glanced around the room one last time. "Who saved it?" I wondered softly. Sinking onto the cot, I sat cross-legged with the photo securely in my fingers. I stared down at the faces of my family, a small, tired smile crossing my lips. My family was safe.

After a long handful of minutes, I carefully tucked the photograph under my pillow and lay down, letting my eyes drift closed. I kicked my shoes off, listening to them fall off the other end of the too-short cot. Then, crossing my fingers in the vain hope I wouldn't be plagued with dreams about what had just happened, I let myself relax. I didn't want to think about it yet. I'd deal with it in the morning.

For a moment before I slid off to sleep, my mind flittered back to the question of who had saved my family's picture. I gave a half-hearted mental shrug. "Thank you," I breathed, hoping that the kind-hearted person would know my gratitude.

As my dreams took over, I could have sworn I heard a small voice from under my cot whisper, "You're more than welcome."

* * *

Back in the pits, screaming crowds pressing in around me, my head throbbed to the beat of some hidden pulse. I was in ghost mode, my black clothes spotless for once as I hovered easily over the gore of the pit. Just above my head, the ghost shield sparkled green each time a wave of rampant ectoenergy drifted through the air. I glanced around, searching for my opponent.

Standing at the other end of the pit, the ghost leered at me through pulsing, green eyes. She moved forwards out of the shadows, her long, blue hair flaring with the cheering of the crowd. "Dipstick!" she yelled up at me. Her guitar swirled into existence in her fingers.

"Ember," I whispered.

"Say my name!" she screamed, strumming a chord as the crowd picked up its chanting.

"Ember! Ember! Ember!"

As she lifted of the ground, her hair flared and grew until it was swirling all around her, reaching out like a hundred arms to fill up the entire area around her. She threw her hand up in the air, fingers bent, then crashed down, a power chord ripping over the noise of the crowd. The energy of her blast was so powerful that it was visible as it snaked towards me in a green wall of light.

I brought my arms up, the blades deflecting the worst of the energy, but it still slammed into me with enough force to throw me across the pit and blast me into the wall. Dazed and trembling, I collapsed into the muck. Ember drifted across the pit, her hair flaring bigger and bigger with the vigorous chanting of the insane crowd.

Before I could struggle to my feet, Ember began to softly pick out a melody on her guitar. The music drifted through the air, caressing the muck I was kneeling in. The green-red mud began to glow, thick strands of it rising up off the ground like snakes being charmed in the movies. Suddenly they wrapped around me, trapping my legs and squeezing around my waist.

The muck began to pull me under as Ember continued her siren's music. "See ya on the flipside, kid," she sang.

I was up to my waist in the muck, struggling helplessly. "Stop it, Ember!"

"No," she cooed. "With you gone, Walker has promised that I can have Amity Park." She grinned at me. "With all you annoying Fentons out of the way, it'll be the perfect place to stage my comeback tour."

As the mud creeped up my chest, I stared at her. "Out of the way? Where are they? What did you do to my family?"

She strummed a bit, humming a haunting melody. "Oh, nothing yet," she confessed. "But after I finish you off, Walker's going to go take your family and any friends you have and throw them in the Pits. He's planning some kind of mass execution." A smile flickered across her face. "Not really my thing, you understand, but I won't be here to care."

"No," I whispered.

"Then you have to fight, kid." Ember's hair glowed brightly for a second. "You have to win."

"I don't want to fight." The mud was up to my neck.

"You're going to drown in the blood of the ghosts you murdered," she whispered, "and then spend the rest of eternity knowing that your family's fate is _all your fault_… and that's all you have to say? You don't want to fight?"

I struggled against the mud for a second, spitting out a mouthful of sour, green liquid. "I don't want to fight," I snapped.

"Newsflash, dipstick. Neither do I. But sometimes you have to fight." Her skull-decorated boots drifted down until they were floating even with my eyes. She knelt down in mid-air, staring at me with her haunting emerald eyes. "Sometimes, to do what's right, you have to do what's wrong."

"I don't want to kill you." I wasn't entirely sure I said it aloud, too distracted by the fact that the mud seemed to have stopped pulling me down.

She grinned at me, fiddling her fingers on the strings. The soft melody drowned out the chanting, pulsing crowd for a moment. "It's a nice sentiment kid, but is it _really_ what you want?"

"What?"

"Don't you remember the fight you had with that idiot panther-ghost?"

I shivered and tried yanking one arm out of the mud. After a few seconds of straining, the muck released my arm with a slurping sound. "Yeah, Ember, I remember."

Her eyes glazed over as she watched me. "Don't you remember the feeling when your blades collected all that energy and purified it, focused it?"

Struggling to get my other arm free, I paused. My mind flickered back to the fight with Doric. I could remember it very well. How the ectoenergy had swirled in frozen streams around my arm, flaring along the silver of the blades, blazing with power. I could remember perfectly how the energy had thrummed through my body, sparkling against my nerves, sending shivers of desire into my brain. I had never felt energy that had been that… condensed. That focused. That _powerful_.

"Power is intoxicating," Ember breathed. "Especially that level of power. That's what I feel when I get all these people," she gestured to the crowd, "chanting my name."

I freed my other arm, pushing myself a bit farther out of the mud. "What does this have to do with anything?" I snapped.

"You want more," she whispered. "That's what you _really_ want. You want to fight. You want to win."

"I don't want to fight." I kicked against the muck, straining.

"Yes, you do." Ember was suddenly inches from my face, staring straight into my green eyes. "You're a ghost," she murmured into my ear. "Deep down, you love the discord, the raw emotions, the pure power of the fight. You can't deny that."

"Watch me," I hissed, twisting my head away from hers.

"Fine," she snapped. "But if you can't accept who and what you are, _ghost-boy_, you're never going to win." Ember stood up, drifting a bit farther away. "And if you don't win, your family will lose."

She raked her fingers across the strings, the muck suddenly jumping back to life. "Bye-bye, dipstick." Before she could complete another power chord, the mud was up over my head. I struggled against the thick substance, barely able to move.

_I don't want to fight._

My lungs were straining, holding my breath. I needed to get free.

_I don't want to fight_.

I pushed against the mud with one hand, shaking my head in an attempt to clear a space for one breath of air. No such luck. _I'm not going to give in._

As my mind started to go black, my body struggled more and more to free itself. _I'm NOT going to give in!_ I snarled to myself, green energy flaring behind my closed eyes. Frozen streamers of power drifted around me, whispering against my nerves and sending jolts to my brain that made my toes curl and my teeth clench.

I fought the intense feeling, trying to shove the tickling joyful bubbles out of my head. _I'm not going to give in… I'm not going to give in… I'm not going to give in…_

As the delicious feeling of pure power flooded through my nerves, my body gave up its fight to hold its breath. My mouth opening despite the mud, I reflexively took a deep breath.

And woke up with a start on my cot.

I stared around the room, panting, the nine ghost lights on the ceiling whirling and dancing in frantic patterns. No Ember. My breathing slowed enough for me to realize that I was missing an important component to my nightmare-driven panic attack. My heart wasn't racing. I couldn't hear it pounding in my ears at all. Which meant…

I glanced down at my arms, not entirely surprised to see the silvery blades and the vaguely glowing skin that signaled that I was in ghost form. I sat back on my heels and sighed, letting my racing mind settle back into a normal pattern.

The dream floated through my brain, the memory of Ember leaning over me, hissing those toxic words into my ear. I shivered, trying to push the thought away. "Deep down," she whispered in my memory, "you love the discord, the raw emotions, the pure power of the fight. You can't deny that."

Her words echoed around in my head. I brought one leg up to my chest, wrapping my arms around it and resting my chin on my knee.

"I don't want to fight," I whispered, jumping slightly at the hoarse sound of my voice in the empty room. "I _have_ to."

At the barest thought, the slightest flicker of memory, neon green energy shimmered into existence around my hands. It sparkled and shone, then fizzled, snaking up my arms and twirling onto the shining blades. Instantly the energy flared to that new level, concentrated and purified, simmering and coiling in the cold air of the room. The cool tingle of this pure power sent shivers up my arms and an unconscious smile to my face.

Suddenly I triggered the transformation, letting the prickle of life sweep through me. For the longest time, I sat there, staring down at my hands, wondering, listening to the simple beat of my heart in my ears.

_Is Ember right? Deep down, do I really like fighting? Do I like the thrilling pulse of power and the exhilarating emotions of these battles?_

I shivered, clenching my fists and wrapping my arms around me.

_At least don't lie to myself. I do like to fight. I like the power. But I don't like the ending._

I chill swept through me, raising goosebumps on my arms.

_I didn't like fighting at first, now I do. I didn't like that feeling of power at first, yet now I love it. It's… enthralling. I don't like the endings… I don't like killing…_

_Not yet anyway…_

I pushed the pillow roughly off the bed, uncovering the photograph of my family. I just sat there, staring down at their faces, watching the shadows move and dance as the ghost lights flickered overhead.

To save my family… was I turning into something just as bad as the ghosts I had once fought? Would I ever be able to go home? Or, by the time I got free, would I just be another murdering spirit terrorizing the world?

* * *

Two 'meals' later, Walker stormed back into my room. He snarled, his rusty knife already out and dancing in the greenish light. I was jerked off of my cot, slipping to my feet.

"Got something for you," he snapped, glared over his shoulder at a guard. The ghost stepped into the room, a small garbage bag held tightly in his arms. "Leave it," Walker commanded, kicking the guard back out of the room and shutting the door.

Walker turned to me, a chilling grin stretching his lips. "First, I want to congratulate you on your win." He nodded slightly at me, tipping his hat. "You made me quite a bit of money."

I shivered, backing away from him, not bothering to answer. What did he want me to do, _thank_ him for letting me murder Doric?

"But," Walker hissed, "we need to _discuss_ your actions after the match. They were less than exemplary."

I narrowed my eyes, feeling the cold stones press into my back. My mind slowly churned on the idea of attacking Walker. He was all alone right now. I'd just have to get past this stupid shock collar…

"As a… consequence of your actions, I have brought this," Walker toed the bag with his polished boot, "and this," he said, holding up his bloody knife.

My thoughts of attacking him derailing at the sight of the knife, I glanced down at the garbage bag. "What's in the bag?" I asked, remembering to speak up.

Walker's grin widened. I got a nice view of his rotting teeth, even from across the room. "You remember when you first arrived here? We had a little chat."

I remembered: he stuck that stupid knife into my arm and condemned me to die in the Pits. How could I ever forget that? I'd probably spend the rest of my pathetically short life with that memory ringing in my head.

Walker was continuing on his monologue without waiting for my input. "You confessed to the crime for which you were sentenced to die. You remember what it was?" He barely paused. "You murdered your friends. Sam and Tucker."

"No I didn't," I snapped as he opened his mouth to continue.

"Oh yes, you did," he cooed, his desiccated eyes rolling around in his eye sockets. "Those three idiots – the two safari ghosts and the elephant? – they shot you with a dart, you remember that?"

Vaguely. Everything went black, but there may have been a sharp prick in my arm. I couldn't remember for sure. I simply nodded, sliding farther along the wall towards the corner as Walker took a step towards me.

"True idiots," Walker sighed, "they shot you with a drug that causes mild schizophrenia in humans." He shot me a dark look. "You, punk, went crazy for a few minutes."

I raised an eyebrow. _Does he think I believe this?_

"You won't remember it, the drug would have caused a black-out in your memory, but you began hallucinating. From what we can determine, you thought your two friends had turned into ghosts. Split images of Plasmius." Walker sent me an easy grin, the knife flashing in the light as he used it to pick some dirt out from under his fingernails. "You attacked them. Apparently, they didn't stand much of a chance." The warden stooped, slicing through the garbage bag sitting next to him. Bloody clothes spilled onto the floor.

I stopped breathing, eyes locked on the contents of the bag. A yellow shirt, soaked in blood and charred beneath a familiar, shattered red beret. A green checked skirt with a black shirt.

"The funeral was yesterday," Walker continued conversationally. "I had a guard sneak into the police station and steal these for you. They were saving them for evidence, but as you won't be back, there's no point in having a trail." His foot toed through the clothes, scattering them around on the floor. A purple scruchie, dotted with nearly-black blood, tumbled away from the rest. Walker lazily kicked it in my direction.

I scrambled away from it, my breath catching in my throat. "No," I whispered.

"It's not really _your_ fault," he soothed. "Those idiot ghosts are the ones that shot you with that dart. You can't really be _blamed_ for what happened. But confessions are confessions, and crimes must be punished appropriately."

Pressed into the corner of the room, eyes focused on the scruchie on the floor, I wasn't listening to a word he was saying.

Walker chuckled softly. "Don't beat yourself up about it, alright punk?" Then he was gone.

Leaving the bloody clothes scattered all over the floor.

_I didn't kill my friends, this is a trick, a mind game_. My head was racing, pouring over what he had said. But the clothes were there, disrupting my thoughts. Each time I managed to start to think that nothing was wrong, those mangled clothes threw me off track.

"I didn't kill my friends," I hissed, tearing my gaze away from the pile of clothes to glare at the door Walker had already disappeared through.

"I didn't!" I snarled, my anger at Walker for even suggesting such a thing trickling up through my veins. "This is a weak trick!" I shouted at the door. "I'm not stupid!"

I twisted my head to gaze at the clothes as simmering frustration welled up in me. " Walker," I seethed. I brought my arm up, blinking at the sight of the starlight blade sparkling on my arm. I wasn't sure when I had shifted to ghost mode.

Power coiled through my arm, fizzing on the blade and sending shimmering energy flooding through my veins. It fed off of my fear and anger, flaring around me in an almost visible cloud of ectoplasm.

"No!" I yelled. "I didn't do it!" Suddenly I threw my arm out, the electric energy flaring along the blade, blazing through the small room. It slammed into the small pile of bloody clothes, flaring them to ash in a millisecond. "I didn't kill my friends," I fumed, glaring at the dirty smear on the floor, ignoring the ghost lights that were spinning, terrified, around the ceiling.

Frustration coiled inside of me, tearing at my stomach, dragging ectoenergy to the surface to flash around me. I glanced around the room for another target. I needed to get this out of me; I was going to be torn apart. Seeing nothing, the intoxicating power built up inside of me with no outlet. Finally, with a scream, I released all that energy. It flew out in all directions, shattering the small cot to splinters and charring the floor, the walls, and the ceiling. Eight of the ghost lights, all of them except for one that had managed to hide from the powerful wave of energy, vanished in small puffs of light.

Grinning through the tiredness that was pressing down on me, I looked around the room. A small laugh trickled out at the sudden, blessed calmness of my mind, echoing oddly in the silence of the room. Slowly, I twirled on my heel, marveling at the almost weightless, blank feeling invading my head.

Suddenly I was human again, the moment of tranquil peace shattering. I stared at the destroyed room, dropping to my knees and wrapping my arms around my chest, fully comprehending what I had just done. "What did I just do?" I whispered. _This isn't me. I don't destroy things out of anger and frustration. Ghosts do that. Not me. Why did I… _A sick feeling swirled up in my throat as I remembered the almost happy feeling that had drifted through me as I had surveyed the damage I had caused.

My eyes settled on the purple scruchie that still sat on the floor, the only piece of 'evidence' that hadn't been completely destroyed in my crazy outburst. I stared down at it, my breathing shallow as Walker's voice rasped through my mind.

"It's just a trick, I'm not a murder." Carefully, I picked up the charred scruchie, holding it in the palm of my hand. "I'm not a murder," I insisted, staring at it.

The faces of Crusher, Slasher, and Doric flashed before my eyes. I changed my plea. "I didn't kill…"

A flash of memory. Sam running in terror, her violet eyes wide. Tucker lying on the ground, his beret smoking.

"I didn't…"

The simple, purple scruchie just sat on my hand and refused to agree with me.

* * *

The fight after that little episode was a complete disaster. To say I had temporarily given in to my ghostly side was the understatement of the century. To this day, I'm not entirely positive what came over me. Some potent combination of fear, anger, frustration, depression, and loneliness maybe. 

Or, perhaps, I truly went nuts for awhile. It's entirely possible. I mean, I was learning to deal with being a murder and I had just found out that I may have killed my best friends in cold blood. You need to cut me a little slack.

He's the only ghost I ever fought in the Pits that I can't put a name to. I didn't listen when Former told me, and the ghost never got a chance to talk to me in the pit. Even though I hate thinking about that fight, I remember every moment of it with crystal clarity.

I remember storming out to the starting spot, frustration and anger thrumming through me. The poor ghost was standing at the other end of the pit trembling as he started at me. On that horrible day, the ghost wasn't a person – he wasn't an opponent. He was a target; a way to release the emotions roiling around inside of me. I must have been a vision of terror, my eyes blazing green and energy tearing up the mud around me. It's the day, looking back weeks later, when something _dark_ woke up inside of me.

He didn't stand an ice cube's chance in Hell of winning. The crowd knew it, betting nearly two hundred-to-one odds that I'd beat this ghost. From the terrified look in his sapphire eyes, he knew it too. I can remember grinning at him – _grinning at him_ – before I attacked him.

I remember cutting him down with one simple attack. I left him, lying fatally wounded, in the mud. I wasn't tired, not wounded, and barely even dirty. _Not worth my time_. I shudder to think about what was going through my mind during that fight.

After killing him, I remember turning around, glancing down at his disintegrating body and feeling the _wrongness_ of it all. A perverse sickness flooded through my entire being. I still cling to the memory of that feeling. It's the only thing that hints at the fact that I didn't go over the edge. That I wasn't lost. That I hadn't given in the whole way.

Sure, I had killed without hesitating. I had killed without struggling. I had killed in cold blood.

But it was still _wrong_. And I still knew it.

While the guards were escorting me out of the pits, I remember looking up into the crowds… all those truly insane ghosts. Quite a few of them were staring at me, faces pale, trembling when I met their eyes. I had _scared_ them. I remember sending them a sadistic grin and chuckling as more than one of the ghosts ducked away from my gaze.

One didn't flinch. The ghost in the green cloak was back, neon eyes staring sorrowfully at me from the stands. Slowly, deliberately, the ghost shook his head, turned, and walked away. A ghost I didn't even know… the same one that had secretly applauded my defensive, defiant actions earlier… he was ashamed what I had done. It was like a punch to the gut.

As I was pushed out of the pit, I can remember one thought echoing through my mind. _What have I done?_

Even today, I'm not entirely sure.

* * *

_The young woman shivered. "He wrote that fight differently from the others," she whispered to the empty room. "I wonder why?" She flipped to the next page of the notebook, then hesitated. Slowly, she closed the battered, red notebook, staring down at the words scrawled across the cover._

_"I'm not writing this story for you – I'm writing this story for me," she read aloud, tracing her finger over the depressed words. Her mind whirled. "He wrote this for himself, not for me," she muttered, "but yet he started writing distantly… like he was trying to pull himself out of the story …almost like he didn't want to think about what he was thinking about…"_

_She glanced up at two sapphire eyes that glittered out from under the cot. "What could've been going on in his head that he wouldn't want to think about?" The rat's nose twitched and it scurried back over to her side._

_"What was he so afraid of?" A small laugh escaped her mouth as the rat crawled up to her shoulder and peered at the closed notebook impatiently. "Did he really think he'd turn into some evil monster?"_

_The rat's eyes flickered up to meet hers and it tapped her cheek with its small claws. She gave a small shudder at the cold feel of its skin, raising one eyebrow. "Why, for crying out loud, am I asking _you_? It's not like you're going to answer."_

_When she finally picked up the notebook again, the rat stared down at the messy handwriting for only a moment before jumping off her shoulder and sliding back under the bed. Before it vanished into the corner, the rat paused, looking over its shoulder and sending her an unnoticed grin._

_Alone in the room once more, the young lady continued to read…_


	8. Page 6

It sounds like something out of one of my friend Tucker's comic books, but it's a true statement. There _is_ great evil inside of me.

I met it face to face a few months ago during a trip to the future and I've been fighting it ever since. Denying it. Promising everyone that would listen that I would _never_ become that person.

But deep inside my own mind, I've always wondered. That evilness… it _is_ in me. I know it is. It'll always be there, hiding in the darkest recesses of my spirit. It's like a race. A race for my soul.

Yesterday… yesterday… I think I started to loose the race.

Somewhere, locked in my head, a monster woke up.

* * *

I sat in my cell after my fight, staring up at the two ghost lights that shimmered and danced on the ceiling. My hands were behind my head, cushioning my aching head from touching the rough walls. Gazing around room 143, I contemplated everything that had happened. It had happened so slowly, agonizingly slowly, but yet it had blazed by, not letting me get my head around everything.

I hated thinking about everything that had happened; it made my stomach boil and twist. Up until now I'd just let things go… I'd think about them later… I'd be grateful to just exist. But this time I forced myself to continue. I needed to put this behind me; I needed to accept everything that had been going on.

My fight would be over if I didn't think about it.

My eyes settled on the scorch marks on the walls. Even though I was firmly in human mode, a burst of cool power flickered over my hands at the thought of what had happened. I had been so mad at the thought of my friends dying that I had lost my temper. I had _destroyed_ everything in my anger.

I dragged my knees up to my chest and buried my head in my folded arms. My breath was rasping in my lungs, unsteady and shallow.

The very thought of me acting so… evil, so... ghost-like was like a punch to my stomach. I hadn't just incinerated Sam's and Tucker's clothes. No, I hadn't settled for that. I had gone on a miniature rampage, destroying everything I could get my hands on. And then taking it a step farther and actually _killing._

I shuddered, instinctively veering away from the thought of having killed. I had to kill that ghost, I didn't have a choice. Blinking away tears, I could easily picture what remained of my cell in my mind. The hard cot was gone, mere splinters and burnt rags scattered around the cell. The door was visibly singed, a good layer of charcoal on the wood planks. Even the remaining ghost lights trembled in the far corners, staying well away from me.

But the worst part was the photograph of my family. The picture was curled and burnt around the edges, my father almost completely cut out of the photo. I had managed to rescue it from a small puddle of water after being shoved back into my cell after that fight, and now it was resting by my foot next to the burnt, purple scrunchie.

My eyes burned. I don't know what I would do if that got destroyed. It was my only link to the outside world – to my family. I kept my head buried deep in my arms and fought against all the thoughts that were trying to enter my mind. One thing at a time… one thing at a time…

I don't know how long I sat there, repeating that phrase to myself, fighting against the depressing thoughts. All I do know for sure is that my breathing slowed and steadied, my brain's twistings and spinnings became unhurried, and – somewhere along the line – I fell asleep.

* * *

To tell you the truth, I wasn't as surprised as I should have been to find myself in the Pits with Ember once again. Nightmares have a tendency to come back and bite you for a second time.

Her haunting melody floated through the air as she stood in the center of the muddy pit and strummed her guitar absently, eyes closed. "I don't like being your psychologist," the battered rock star sang softly. Letting a dissonant chord hover in the air around her, she reached up to brush some of her blue hair out of her face.

"Then why do you?" I leaned back against the wooden slats surrounding the pit, not quite about to relax around the ghost – even if she was just a figment of my dreaming mind.

"I got conned into it," she muttered darkly. "Apparently, we have something in common."

I quirked an eyebrow at that, letting the dream take its course. It was stupid and implausible for Ember to be here and actually care about me. "Something in common?"

She glared at me, her emerald eyes flaring in the dim light. "Don't ask me," she snapped, "it's your head, dipstick, not mine."

We were both silent for a few minutes before she started picking a melody out on her guitar again. With a start of surprise, I realized that it was a lullaby my mother sang to me when I was little. I just stared at her from my spot slouched against the wall figuring that made a tiny bit of sense: this Ember was created out of my mind and probably had my memories as well. "I don't want to kill anybody," I blurted.

Ember's tune drifted into silence. "Then don't," she muttered.

"Then I'll die. And my family too."

She shrugged, then glanced up at me from her guitar. "It's still a choice you're making. Kill or be killed. Eat or be eaten. It's not exactly a new concept."

I sank down onto the ground, ignoring the slightly damp feeling of the sand. "So it's my fault. I'm a murderer."

The siren sighed, her bruised eyes meeting mine. "You don't look like a murderer to me."

"How would you know?" I scowled, "I killed that ghost. I didn't even care."

"Yes, you _do_," she said softly. "Or else you wouldn't be here talking to me." Her head tipped to the side. "Do you know how I died?"

I shook my head, watching her closely. If I didn't know… how could she?

"I was murdered," she said softly. She let go of the guitar, letting it fade into oblivion. Her bruised hands came up and removed her choker. A thick, dark line circled on her pale skin. "After being beaten, I was strangled. I remember the guy that did it." A shudder slid through her body, and Ember closed her eyes, clutching the choker in her fist. "Oh yes, I remember him. Cool, cold, emotionless. He didn't care that I was dying. He _reveled_ in the blood that flowed around his fingers. He loved it." Her voice trailed off.

I didn't know what to say. I just sat there, staring at the image my teenage foe, trying to figure out how she – a piece of my own mind – knew something I didn't.

"My life meant nothing to him. I could see it in his eyes. He was dead to the world before I was." Ember's eyes flickered open; she stared at me across the pit as I shivered. "I looked into the face of a murderer; I know what one looks like."

I rested my chin on my folded knees and sighed. "I killed him without thinking; I didn't even try to fight it. I'm just like him."

"You think too much." Suddenly I felt a cold wave breeze through me. I glanced up – Ember was sitting next to me, completely relaxed. She shot a glance at me, her mouth flickering into a grin. "Dipstick, you're no murderer. You despise what you did. It's eating you up on the inside."

"So?"

Ember actually laughed, her musical voice echoing in the empty pit. "You may have killed," she hesitated, "you may have even murdered that ghost, but you're not _murderer_. You're a survivor."

A flicker of fury brushed against my nerves. Pushing myself to my feet, I paced across the deserted pit, my eyes flickering with green lights. "I killed him. He's dead, and it's _my_ fault. I _murdered him_!" I was startled by the energy pulsing around my hands. I hadn't realized I was that angry. _Why_ was I this angry?

Twisting around, Ember was on her feet with her guitar in her hands. Her bruised arms strummed downwards, blasting a wave of energy towards me. The pulse swept me up, tossed me into the mud, and knocked me dizzy. Ember straddled my body, her hair flaring with cold energy. "I _get it_," she snarled. "You _killed_. Boo-hoo. Poor baby."

I stared up at her for a second before pushing my hands into the muddy sand and trying to sit up. Ember's platform shoe pressed into my chest and slammed me back down into the mud.

"Did you enjoy it? Did you feel a sense of pleasure watching his blood spill all over the ground? Do you dream about your next fight? Of slowly slicing open the guy's neck and drinking in the intoxicating feeling of terror that bellows off of him?"

I shivered, twisting to try and get out from under her shoe. She pressed down mercilessly, leaning over to pierce me with her stare.

"Is it exciting – this feeling of power over life and death? A bit of control in an uncontrollable situation? It's _your_ choice who lives and who dies, isn't it?" Her nose was inches from mine, her eerie, jade eyes glowing into mine. "Have you given up your soul, ghost-boy?"

My arms trembled as I stared up at her, unable to do anything but feel the tears well up in my eyes. I tried to keep reminding myself that it was all just a dream, but it felt too real. Licking my lips, I couldn't find anything to say.

After a few moments of silence, Ember let me go, walking back across the pit, strumming her guitar. "I don't see it in you, that cold heartlessness."

"But it _is_ in me," I whispered.

She shrugged, fingers dancing vaguely on the strings. "You'll have to square with that, kid. But until you do, take my word for it. You aren't a murderer."

I shook my head sadly, then sighed. "Fine," I murmured, not really convinced, but willing to drop this dream-induced argument. "You know, in real life Ember's not really this nice."

Ember shot me a grin. "True, but then again, I'm not really Ember."

"Who are you, then?"

"You already know," she said cryptically as she glanced over her shoulder at me and quirked an eyebrow.

Suddenly I was alone in the pit, staring at the space where Ember used to be standing. "This dream stinks," I muttered. Wandering over to the side, I dropped into the muck, letting my head thud back against the wood slats.

"Can I wake up now?" I called up into the silence. My own words echoed back at me, twisted by the cold evilness that was flooding into the air.

The door on the other side of the pit squeaked, inching open. My breath caught in my throat as I stared into the blackness beyond the door. Somehow, I _knew_ who would be walking out that door… and it wouldn't be Ember.

I barely got a glimpse of flashing red eyes and flaming blue hair before the lock to my cell door creaked and I was jerked out of my sleep.

Blinking blearily across my rather dim room, I vaguely noted that the two ghost lights were flickering in the corner above my head, barely giving off light. As I took a deep breath and shook the sleep from my mind, the lights flared back to their normal brightness and raced each other around the room several times.

By this time, the door was open. I flinched, half expecting Walker with more bloody clothes and bad news. Perhaps my crimes had grown and I'd murdered my family now or something. I tightened my fist around the bloody scrunchie, waiting for the figure to step out of the shadow.

It wasn't Walker. It wasn't the ghostly warden by a long shot.

The girl who stepped into the room couldn't have been more than my age, lithe and athletic. Fire-red hair curled around her face, chopped almost as short as mine. She had electric green eyes and pale, freckled skin. The girl was wearing the exact same thing I was, dirty and dusty from use. She hefted up a box overflowing with odd-looking tools. "Here to fix your cot."

I just blinked at her from my spot on the floor. "What?" I finally said.

Her smile faded, her emerald eyes loosing some of their glow. "Great, another dim-wit. Here. To. Fix. Your. Cot!" she said slowly, pointing dramatically at where the cot was supposed to be. Then it was her turn to blink in surprise, her eyes sweeping the room, taking in the splinters and burn marks. She whistled. "You really did a number on it, huh? I thought you would just have a screw loose or something." A smile flickered across her face and she arched an eyebrow. "You do not have a screw loose, do you?"

"No," I muttered, tipping my head to the side at her odd way of talking. Precise, clipped words with an odd accent. I'd never heard anything like it.

She grinned. "Wonderful! Let us get to work then." She plunked the toolbox down in the middle of the room and twisted around in a circle, a strange look on her face. Then she sighed. "You are going to need a whole new cot. Hang on." She pounded against the door and relayed a quiet message to the guard standing on the other side. Turning back to me, she grinned and plopped down in mid-air. "Going to take a few minutes."

She twisted her head to the side, gazing around the room. "How did a human like yourself do all this damage?" Her green eyes were back, staring into mine, curious.

I shrugged, still trying to figure out what was going on. This ghost-girl was sitting in my room, working on fixing my cot. After being thrown into pits to fight to the death, being tortured by Walker, and having an argument with Ember… this wasn't too strange. What I thought was odd was that she was wearing a Pits uniform just like mine. Every other person I'd seen that wasn't a prisoner wore other things. Even Former and that prejudiced doctor wore 'normal' clothes.

The ghost blinked at me, apparently put off by my lack of words. "My name is Eloise," she stated shortly. "Do you speak?"

"Yes," I said softly. "I'm Danny."

She tipped her head to the side, eyes narrowing. "Sign said 'Phantom'."

"Yeah," I drifted off, shaking my head sourly. "I'm him too."

Clicking her teeth together, the ghost waited in silence, probably hoping for me to say something more. I wasn't in a talkative mood – I just wanted to be left alone to think. I needed to figure out what that nightmare was about. My subconscious was trying to tell me something.

"I am from down the hall a bit. Room 126," she said suddenly. "I like this hall. The last one I was on smelled of moldy humans all the time. Mostly ghosts on this wing, keeps the smell down."

I wrinkled my forehead, confused by that line of thought. "You're in one of these rooms too?"

"Yes," she nodded, grinning at my question, hoping to drag me into a conversation.

It clicked in my head. She was a prisoner like me. "Wait," I stared at her in surprise, "how do you get out of your cell?"

With a bang, the door slammed open. Eloise dropped out of the air and sent a smile at the guard lugging timber into the room. The guard snarled at me as he dropped the wood to the ground.

"Thank you," Eloise smiled, leaning over the pile of wood and metal, her eyes flitting over the bits and pieces. Before the door was even shut, she was yanking pieces out of the pile and throwing them to me. "Hold these," she muttered. She grabbed a long, metallic pipe, sighted down one end with an annoyed frown, the tossed it over into a corner. "Stupid guards bend everything when they're delivering it."

Snagging a green hammer out of the box of odd-looking tools, the girl yanked the wooden timbers into position, leaning some of them up against the wall. "Grab this," she ordered, letting go of the standing board. It clattered to the ground. I hadn't moved.

She turned to me, raising an eyebrow. "Do you wish to sleep on the floor?" she demanded.

I shook my head.

"Then you will help. Grab that board," she nudged it with her foot, already grabbing the metal pipes, "and _hold it._"

I stumbled to my feet and grabbed the board, bringing it back into place. Eloise shot me a grin before leaning down to tighten bolts. "I don't understand," I said slowly, asking my question for a second time now that I had her attention, "How do you get out of your cell?"

"My room is not locked," the ghost said, sending me a short grin. "It has not been locked for nearly two years now." She grabbed a blue screwdriver out of her toolbox and examined it closely. "This is not mine," she muttered, but then just shrugged and turned back to the half made cot.

"You've won that many fights?"

She laughed. "Are you kidding? I have only been in a pit fight five times."

"Why only five?" She brushed me away from the cot, so I crouched down next to her toolbox, watching her closely as she set the screw in place.

"Rules say we only have to fight every six months…" she trailed off as she bit her tongue, concentrating on getting the screw to turn. "Stupid screwdriver," the tool bent like a piece of cardboard when she pushed it against the cot, "whoever stole my good one is going to pay."

"But…" I stared at her in surprise, "I've had to fight everyday!"

"You are a fighter and Walker is the warden, that is why," she finally got the screwdriver to turn correctly. "The gloriousness of the Pits has been tarnished by his rule." She sighed, then turned to me. "However, if you do not want to fight, find a job. Former is nicer in his assignments if you are helpful."

I was silent while the ghost struggled to tighten three more screws. When I finally found my voice, it was raspy. "_Former_ decides who fights… and how often?"

She raised an eyebrow, sending me a short glance. "What, did you think that Walker wastes his time figuring out every fight?"

I sank to the ground, my legs weak. "I thought Former was nice," I whispered, "but he's the one putting me through this?"

Grunting as she twisted the last screw into place, she was quiet. Settling back on her heels, she turned to me and sighed. "Do not jump to conclusions. Former," she hesitated, "Former has more issues than you can possibly imagine. Walker's hold over him is…" She shook her head, "it is large." The ghost stood up, dropping the bent screwdriver into the box. One hand picked up the toolbox and the other grabbed my shoulder for a moment. "Do not judge him too harshly. In the end, he is nothing more than a prisoner." She blinked a few times, thinking. "Perhaps even more so."

Sitting there, I digested that. Eloise walked over to the door and pounded on it harshly. "One more thing," she said suddenly, "do not break this cot. I highly doubt Walker will give you another." A grin crossed her face. "It has been nice talking to you Phantom Danny. I hope to do so again."

* * *

I dropped onto the newly made cot, kicking the bundle of thin blankets out of the way. I sat cross-legged on the hard boards and pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes. My mind was spinning violently, unable to stop on any topic, barely able to comprehend its own twistings. For some reason, the thought of Former being the one putting me through all of this made _everything_ begin to cascade through my head.

Everything I had pushed aside, everything I had hoped to forget, everything that my dream version of Ember had brought up that had made me so angry, everything I feared to think about. They all crashed through my brain. But instead of whole thoughts, all I got was fragments.

Former

…evil

me

…murderer

pain

…blood

_No, I'm no murderer. I didn't want to kill. Leave me alone!_

Crusher

…pits

Walker

…murder

Sam

…dead

_Sam, please, you can't be dead! Help me Sam, I can't take it anymore. Rescue me._

ripping

…insanity

laughter

…evil

_I'm not evil. I'm not crazy! Stop!_

murderer

…death

It was too much. My brain couldn't take any more fighting. It sputtered to a stop, leaving my brain black and empty.

For the longest time, I sat there, curled up, hands pressing against my eyes, fingers digging into my scalp. My breathing was slow and regular, my heart beat settling into a simple pattern. It was like sleep, this blankness that I found myself in. I felt no desire to move, no desire to try and think, no desire to do anything. I was calm, collected. Any small movement would break that tenuous feeling and restart my brain.

Finally I slowly raised my head, letting a small smile cross my face when the meditative-like state stayed with me. My eyes flickered open, gazing around the empty room. Moving slowly, I unwove my legs and stood up, almost floating across the room. Reaching the far corner, I picked up Sam's scrunchie and the burnt picture of my family.

I didn't think about them, not now. _Sam, Tucker, Mom, Dad, and Jazz were just little flies buzzing around outside my head. I grinned, moving back across the room and setting the items on the cot and stretching. This blank feeling was wonderful._

_Nothing mattered. I didn't have to care about anybody but me. Who cares if Former is some evil ghost? Why would bloody eyes haunt my nightmares? So I killed, so what? Who cares…_

I collapsed to the ground, slamming my fist into the hard, stone floor. Of _course_ I care! My blank state of being vanished, memories slammed back into my brain, overloading, frying, freezing. This time, however, I didn't fight the thoughts, I let them come, swallow me up, spit me back out.

If these memories wanted to destroy me, they could. I didn't want to fight it anymore. Perhaps it was better to go crazy and get it over with. That way I wouldn't care what happened to anybody. It wouldn't hurt so much to think about it. I opened up my mind, the memories and twisting thoughts coursing through me…

And found, rather to my surprise, that I could handle it.

My eyes gazed down at my fist, still slammed hard into the floor, a few cuts from the stone floor bleeding sluggishly and leaving an interesting pattern on the rock. I picked my hand up, turning it over to watch the blood well out of my skin and dribble down my fist in warm rivulets. Sitting there, watching the red blood flow, I felt a smile grow on my face.

"I killed Crusher," I whispered to the room. My words echoed back at me, confused and shaky.

"I killed Slasher," I said a bit louder, the words echoing back more confident.

"I killed Doric." Overhead, one of the ghost lights stopped its crazy twirlings and held still, seeming to watch me.

"I killed that other ghost, whatever his name was." The other ghost light slid to a stop on the other side of the room. Together, they were like a pair of eyes looking down at me from the ceiling.

I stood up, my gaze fixed on the red blood slipping down my arm. "I killed, and I will again," my voice was back to a whisper, the pain of my mind making it wobble and crack. The fingers of my other hand came up, touching the blood tracing my arm. Sticky and warm, I clenched my bloody fingers and grinned.

"I am not a ghost, I will always care. It will always hurt. I will never enjoy it." The ghost lights over my head seemed to agree with me, suddenly jumping into life and spinning like crazy Saint Katherine's wheels.

"You hear me Walker," I hissed, "you are _never_ going to win."

I nodded sharply, opening my fist to look at the strange patterns my bloody fingers had left on my palm. "This I _vow_."

* * *

The purple scrunchie was hidden in my fist as I was shoved into Former's room. Wincing when the door slammed shut behind me, I slid the blood-splattered scrunchie onto my wrist. I didn't really know why I brought it with me to the fight… I should have left it under the pillow with my family's picture. 

For a moment, a vision of Sam floated into my head. She was laughing, her silky hair flying in a light breeze. Something… something was wrong about the picture. But I couldn't place my finger on it. Sam's hair grew more focused, the sunlight setting it aglow. My mind was trying to tell me something…

"Phantom," Former grunted, snapping his fingers in my face, breaking my concentration. In a heartbeat, the vision – and that vague sense of what was wrong – was gone. "Wake up."

"I'm awake," I muttered, blinking up at him. His caramel-colored eyes gazed into mine for a second. _This is the man that made me kill Crusher. And Slasher. And Doric. And that last one._ Somehow, I just couldn't fit that sort of evil into the concern that was leaking out of his eyes.

He sent me a short smile. "You ready?"

I nodded slowly. No, I wasn't ready. How can anybody be ready to be thrown into a fight-til-you-die match? "Who do _you _have me fighting today?" I asked, fitting as much sarcasm into my voice as possible, hoping to see his reaction.

Nothing. Former had already turned around, rummaging through the shelves, apparently not caring about my question. My fingers clenched in irritation.

"Former," I snapped. "I know you're the one putting me through all this!" I just about screamed when he didn't do anything. I ground my teeth together, fuming. Former was _ignoring_ me. "Why are you doing this to me?"

He just continued to move things around, and he actually grinned when he found what he was looking for. Former twisted around, holding a book in his hands. He froze when he saw the angry expression on my face, tipping his head to the side in surprise.

_Surprise?_ I blinked at him, words dying in my mouth. _Surprise?!_

"Phantom," he said, wrinkling his forehead, "what's wrong?"

"You…" I trailed off, trying to figure this out. "You didn't hear me?" It was clicking in my head, connections coming together. How he watched my lips. Never answered questions. Seemed to ignore me…

The thick double-doors leading to the pits slammed open. "Phantom," one of the guards snapped, knocking the almost-thought out of my head before it could fully form.

I glanced at them, then back at Former, who was watching me with a growing expression of comprehension. He knew the answer, I needed it. "Hand on a second," I said, taking a step towards Former.

The leather collar flared to life, sending a sharp zap of power racing through me. I screamed and dropped to my knees. The guard with the control box laughed softly. "Come on," he growled.

"No," I snapped. "I need to know!"

With a yelp, the collar sent another burst of energy through me. I collapsed onto the floor, letting the momentary tingle wear off. "Move it, prisoner." It barely filtered through my ringing ears.

"No," I whispered hoarsely. Without a second thought, I triggered the transformation. Silver light danced off my blades as I pushed myself to a crouch, then onto my feet. The two guards actually took a step backwards at my glowing glare, both of them raising their collar remotes. "I need to know." _I need to know if he's evil. I need to know what he knows!_

Former's book dropped to the ground with a dusty crash as his hands went limp. He was staring at me wide-eyed, his brown eyes fixed on my face. I felt his surprise shiver lightly against my nerves. "That's why…" he murmured softly. "I understand."

"I need…" I began, but was cut off by another, longer zap of electricity from the collar.

The two guards wrenched my still-twitching form off the floor and pushed me towards the door.

"Former?" I called, twisting against them as much as I could with my half-numb muscles. He looked at me, grinning, and gave me a double thumbs-up before the doors slammed shut behind me.

* * *

As I was pushed forwards along the ramp towards the pit, I felt it. It tingled against my senses, making my fingers twitch and curl. For a split second, my green eyes half-closed as I took in the delightful feeling. It felt vaguely like someone lightly dragging their fingernails along your inner arm: a ticklish and thoroughly enchanting sensation.

But then I realized what it was and slammed down on the feeling. A shudder of revulsion swept across my spine. Fear. I had been feeling pure, unbridled fear.

Ghosts feed on emotions – most notably the strong, easily aroused ones like terror and rage. Being half-ghost, I'm just as _aware_ of those floating feelings as any other ghost. I made peace with the fact that I get energy from human emotions long ago. I refuse to enjoy it, however. As soon as I figured out what that prickling energy was, I stomped down on the feeling, cutting it off, and swallowed heavily against the dizzy nausea that always accompanied doing that.

Two steps later, I had gotten my head back in order, and was gearing up to fight the ghost down in the pit. That strong fear still pinged against my brain, but I ignored it and took another few steps.

That's when it sunk in.

I stopped dead in my tracks, the guards bumping into my back.

That feeling was fear. Fear came from humans. That feeling was, rather distinctly, coming from the pit. Thus… there was a very scared human in the pit.

"No," I snapped, trying to twist around and walk back to Former's room.

"Move," one guard said languidly, his red eyes looking sleepy from the strong emotions roiling through the air.

"I'm not fighting a human," I hissed.

Another guard merely nodded. "You are."

"Let me go!"

Suddenly, my collar zapped into life once again. I yelled at the pain, falling to my knees, my shoulders wrenching behind me when the guards refused to let go of my arms as I fell. Electricity coiled around me, stinging the air with fizzling noises. When it ended, my nerves were numb and twitching and my breath was catching in my throat.

By the time I had blinked my eyes focused and could feel my toes again, I was in the pit. The mud was squelching under the boots of the ghosts that were physically hauling me to the starting line. I was finally getting my feet back under me and starting to walk when the guards pushed me harshly forwards and vanished.

I was there.

In the pit.

With a human.

Talk about terrified. I was crouched on my knees and elbows, refusing to look up and see what was going on. My pale arms were pressed into the muck, and I watched as rivulets of black-red blood trickled forwards and brushed warmly against my skin. My fingers were shaking, fists clenching and unclenching with nervous energy.

It took several seconds of anguished shivering before something odd about the situation filtered through my head. Granted, I haven't been in the pits very often, but each time there were some constants.

Bloody, sandy muck underfoot? Check. Someone to fight? Check. Overwhelming fear and despair? Check. Loud, noisy, insane crowds? …

The silence was pressing down on me. That, more than anything else, was what got me to look up. I glanced over to the side, half expecting to see empty stands. Instead, my blood ran cold.

The crowd was there, pressing up against the rails that separated them from the pit. Many ghosts were floating in the air, getting as close to the pit as possible. Every single ghost was silent, their blue, green, or red eyes focused on the fighters. As I watched, a new wave of terror swept out from the human, danced across my mind, then expanded like a ripple in a pond out towards the crowds. When it hit, ghosts shut their eyes in ecstasy, many of them visibly shivering in delight, more than a few completely falling out of the air.

A sick feeling rose in my stomach. They were _feeding_ off of the human. This fight, they wouldn't be calling for a swift death – they would want me to drag it out. Keep the terror level up for as long as possible.

I let my head fall back to staring at the red-green sandy mud. My own brain felt like it was being overloaded as constant streams of fear flowed through the pit from the human.

"What am I going to do?" I whispered aloud as the full horror of the situation finally fell on me. By not killing the human, I'm doing exactly what the ghosts and Walker wanted me to do. Just by being here, I'm doing their job. But to work against Walker would mean I had to kill a _human_.

I'm fifteen. As the dilemmas piled up around me, I screamed in my head. Nobody should have to decide this kind of thing – especially not fifteen-year-olds.

On the one hand, not killing the human would result in satisfying those insane ghosts… not to mention the fact that I would die, Walker would most likely enact his revenge on my family, and I would probably spend the rest of eternity rotting in some 'evil' afterlife. This was not my favorite option.

The only other choice, however, was to kill a human. A human that wouldn't stand a chance against me. That tingling ball of terror was so scared that it hadn't moved since I was thrown into the pits.

Which is more important to me? The lives of myself and my family? Or the life of a human I don't know? I curled my toes in my shoes, clenched my eyes shut, and tightened my fists until I felt cool blood trickling from underneath my fingernails.

In the dead seconds that followed, I listened to sound of my harsh breathing, the occasional shouts from the enraptured audience. My ears pricked up – I heard something else. Something I wouldn't have heard in a normal fight.

Crying. And not just any crying… it sounded like…

Despair clouding my brain, I looked up. I locked eyes with my human opponent. Numbness spread throughout my entire body.

It was a little girl in a dirty blue dress.

I stared across the pit at the girl, watching the tears trickle down her cheeks. The girl was curled into a crouch, her hands digging into her long, blond hair, whimpering loud enough for me to hear. The two overly large blades strapped to her arms would have looked comical if the situation wasn't so dire. I took a hesitant step forwards, faltering when my blades sent a sparkle of reflected light into my eyes.

Walker leered down at me from his gilded throne up in the crowd. I could almost hear the glee in his mind as he watched this. _I can't kill her_.

Something almost like a distant memory whispered in my ears over the roar of the crowd. _I'd do anything to save my family._

_I can't kill a little girl!_ I argued. _I will NOT kill her._

The girl's blue dress was rapidly soaking up the spilt blood and ectoplasm in the sand. She glanced up once at me. Her blue eyes were terrified, punching me straight in the gut. Suddenly she smiled, jumping to her feet and running. "Phantom!" she cheered, racing towards me. When she reached me, she threw her arms around my waist and hugged tight. Her blades sliced into my sides, making me wince, but her eyes sparkled when she looked up at me. "You're here to rescue me!" The roiling terror was toning down, tinged with a heady tingle of happiness.

_I'd do anything to save my family… _the voice in the back of my head trailed off, waiting to see what I'd do.

Her smile was confident and open; her face showing the complete trust that only a five-year-old would think to bestow upon public enemy number one. _No…I can't…_

_You have to._

_I WON'T!_ The girl blinked at me, surprised by my lack of response. She took a slow step back, but grabbed my hand her hand and held on tightly. The smile she sent me wavered slightly.

_You will._

_She's just a little girl._

_She's going to die anyway. Dying won't win her anything._

_I can't…_ my whole body felt numb, the only thing I could feel was the warm fingers desperately clutching my hand. _Never…_

Silence filled my mind, the faded memory ceasing its argument.

I smiled down at the little girl. _I can't kill her. _She returned my smile full force, her trusting eyes glittering in the dim pit lights. A vision of my family drifted through my mind. _I'm sorry… I hope you'll forgive me for what I'm going to put you through. But I can't kill her. Not even to save you._

The girl giggled softly, inching closer and closer until she was basically wrapped around my leg. "We'll show them stinky ghosts, won't we Phantom?"

"Yeah," I said quietly.

"And we'll be heroes," she proclaimed.

"Heroes…" My eyes searched the crowd, falling on Walker. He was watching me, head tipped to the side curiously.

"How do we get out?" She tugged on my shirt, repeating the question.

_There's only two ways out,_ the voice snapped from my mind. _Dead or a murderer. Which will you pick?_

_I can't kill her,_ I sighed to myself.

_I don't want to die._

I didn't respond. My gaze fell back down to the little girl clutching at my leg. One of her sharp blades was absently digging into my calf. Her golden hair was dirty and matted from being captured and thrown into the arena. When she looked up at me, I fell into her bottomless blue gaze. _I won't kill her. Not for anything._

I_ don't want to _die

Blue swirled around me, an electric green creeping in and taking over. The neon colors whirled in tiny eddies on all sides of me, drifting through me, sweeping my mind away. A splash of red rippled across the surface, but vanished as quickly as it had arrived.

The next thing I knew I was sitting in my cell, wet hair still dripping freezing water into my eyes.

* * *

_"What?" the young woman hissed. "How could he not… why not… where is…" She snarled down at the simple notebook, annoyed. "What happened?"_

_She set the notebook down on the hard cot and paced around the cell. Flickering ghost lights littered the ceiling and danced in droves – a huge mass of moving color and light. Just for a moment, she watched them, entranced by the shifting patterns of blue and green. An odd thought crossed her mind, and she sat back down on the cot, running her finger down the page in the journal she had just read. "That's what I thought," she whispered, "he only had two ghost lights."_

_Flipping back a page, she smiled. "And here he's got one." Her eyes sparkled as she flipped through the notebook, confirming her guess. "Well, there's one mystery down, I guess."_

_She crossed her legs and reached for the folded blanket at the edge of the cot. As she drew it around her shoulders, something tumbled out of its creases onto the floor. Wrinkling her forehead, the young woman glanced over the bed, staring down at the object. Her eyes widened in surprise. "Oh… my…" Picking it up with delicate fingers, she set it down on the cot, next to the notebook. Then, with a shiver, she grabbed the notebook, flipped the page, and continued to read…_


	9. Page 7

I sat on my hard cot, staring blankly at the wall, ignoring the icy water dripping off of my black bangs and trickling down my back. Over and over again, I went over the fight in my head. The girl, standing there, alive… and then blankness. A blur of colors.

_What happened?_

My fingers clenched into tight fists, my fingernails digging into my palms. The entire fight was gone from my mind, vanished like it had never happened.

_I…_

_I..._

_I killed…_

My stomach twisted, heaving. With a gasp, I raced over to the hole that served as a toilet, runny, noxious, slight glowing liquid burning up my throat and out of my mouth. I moaned, dropping my head into my hands, and swallowed hard.

Holding perfectly still, I tried to ignore the growing pounding in my head and the aching of my body. The horrible taste of radioactive bile was coating every surface of my mouth, trying its best to compete with the throbbing of my brain for what was worse. Finally, I stuck my finger into my mouth and quickly scrubbed at my teeth, spitting out everything I could.

I dragged myself away from the corner, pulling myself tiredly back onto my bed. Every muscle in my body ached distantly, so finding a comfortable position was nearly impossible. I ended up on my back, head cushioned by the wafer-thin pillow, the blanket pulled around me.

The ghost lights were dancing away in my blurred vision. The two green lights swirled around a single blue light like picadors at a bull fight, racing in to touch the blue light before streaking away, dodging and skittering around the ceiling, ricocheting off walls like a giant pinball game.

A small smile flickered onto my face at their random antics. My eyes drifted closed, the tenderness in my body making it hard to think. The death of that little girl was out staged by the pounding drums of my headache.

Barely conscious, I rolled onto my side, the cool stones of the wall inches from me. With my forehead pressed against the welcoming cold of the rocks, my eyes drifted closed.

* * *

"Hi-ya dipstick."

I screamed, digging my fingers into my black hair. Actually, it was such a good release for the frustration building up in me that I kept it up a bit longer than necessary. Before too long, I ran out of breath and had to stop.

"You done?" Ember strummed her guitar, sending soft melodies floating through the air.

I closed my eyes, debating screaming again. It had felt _very_ good. "Why are you still here?" I moaned. "I accepted the fact that I'm killing ghosts."

"Am I annoying or something?" She laughed slightly, humming along to her tune.

"Like a bad plot device," I muttered. "I don't even _like_ that world-conquering siren." I looked up at her, raising an eyebrow. "Who are you, really? I know you're not Ember."

Her fingers danced on the strings, not talking. "On the one hand, you know exactly who I am." She flicked a smile in my direction. "On the other, I'm not sure you can handle who I really am. You're ignoring what you know for a reason."

Rolling my eyes at her horrible logic, I sighed. "Fine. But _why_ are you here?"

She sent me a half-grin, her melody picking up speed. "I'm here to protect you."

"Protect me? From what?"

She let the song float in the air for a moment, one hand coming up to point over my shoulder. "From a number of things – but mostly from him."

Before I could turn around, a cold shiver drifted down my spine. "Your nightmare isn't over yet," a deep voice hissed in my ear.

My eyes widened – I remembered that voice perfectly. I twisted around, my heart pounding in my throat. Floating just to my right, blue skin glowing, hair flaming, red eyes blazing… was me.

"Hi, Danny," Dan sneered.

I backed away from him, tripping over my feet and tumbling to the ground. "But… but… you're trapped in a thermos!"

Dan chuckled, malevolence slicing through the air. "Oh yes, I'm trapped in a thermos all right." The powerful being shook his head slowly. "How stupid _was_ I growing up? We're inside _your head_."

"He's just a memory," Ember said, walking over and crouching next to me. "A piece of your mind. He's not real."

"Not yet," Dan hissed.

I was glancing from Ember to Dan and back, my eyes wide with panic. "He's in a thermos." I repeated dully.

The siren looked at me, her emerald eyes gazing deep enough into my eyes to dig around in my brain. She leaned back on her heels, shaking her head. "Don't worry about him. I'm here to protect you, I told you that."

"You can't stop destiny," the evil spirit snarled. "_I'm_ destiny."

Ember ignored him, her eyes calm. I stared over her shoulder into the bloody eyes of my older counterpart. Inching backwards, I felt the hard wall suddenly press into my back. "He's in a thermos," I whispered once more.

"Yes," she sighed, standing up. Her guitar swirled into existence under her fingers with a flame of energy. She fiddled with the knobs for a second, then strummed down hard. The blast of power slammed out of her guitar and into Dan – blowing him into mist.

She stood there, staring at the disintegrating ruddy mist. "Why…" I asked hesitantly when she didn't turn around for a few seconds. "Why is he in my head?"

"Because he's a part of you," she answered softly. "_You_ really need to fight him, not me. I can't defeat him; I'm not you." She blinked, then shrugged. "Well, I'm not _you_ you, anyways," she added cryptically.

I got to my feet, staggering slightly as my headache made the pit spin in giddy circles. "You did a pretty good job."

"It's not permanent – he'll be back." Her eyes flickered over to mine. "You need to destroy him."

"Oh yeah? How? He's trapped in a thermos and I'm trapped in the Pits."

"Not the _real_ Dan," she sighed, "this Dan. The one in your head. The one feeding off of your evil tendencies."

"Evil?" I whispered.

"Yes. The part of you that thinks you are evil for killing those ghosts, for murdering that girl, for destroying your friends." Her emerald eyes drifted off of me and trailed around the room. "The part of you that thinks you _deserve_ to be here." Her smile was fierce. "_That_ Dan."

We were silent for a moment. I gazed down at the ground, for the first time noticing that it wasn't the slippery muck I was used to, but soft sand. Slowly, I traced my toes through the warm sand, refusing to think about what she was trying to bring up. "Who are you, really?" I asked softly. "Not Ember, I know that. But who _are you?_"

"You already…"

"I already know," I cut her off. "So you've said. But I _don't_ know." I glared at her, ignoring the way she took a few steps backwards. "Who are you? Why Ember?"

"I needed to look like someone you'd listen to," she said softly.

"Ember?" I yelped in disbelief. "What made you think I'd listen to _Ember?_"

"I don't know," her voice was sour and flat and defeated, "but for some reason you do. At least, you listen to her more than you'd listen to _me_." Her chuckle was morose.

"_Who are you?_"

She dropped her guitar to the ground, letting it dissolve away. "I'm _you_," she whispered, her eyes not meeting mine. "I'm just trying to help." Ember's form flickered and misted, vanishing and leaving a smaller form behind. The specter had on my normal uniform – black on silver-white – with shocking snowy hair. "I'm sorry," my own voice stuttered from the figure, "The part of you that's me… I just didn't want to die."

Suddenly, he looked up at me, my own blue eyes gazing into his supernaturally green ones. Deep down, fear started to tug at me, pulling at my mind, but I couldn't look away from what I saw in those eyes.

_A scream ripped through the pit, the tiny ball of blonde hair curling up on the floor in terror._

_A flash of silver-green blades._

_A wash of blood_.

"No…" I whispered, backing away. "No…"

Those dark, depressed, slightly crazed emerald eyes followed me as darkness swirled around me.

"I'm sorry," my voice whispered to me.

I woke up, sobbing, in my cell, the new blanket clutched to me.

* * *

It was yet another visitor to my forlorn and forgotten cell. I didn't even look up as he cracked the door open and slipped inside, the door clicking shut behind him. "What was her name?" I asked dully as he stood in the doorway, watching me.

When he didn't answer, I turned to glare at him. "Tell me her name!" I snapped, wincing away from the sharp sound, my head still pounding.

Former shook his head. "Who are you?" he asked me softly, taking a step closer.

"Stay away from me," I snarled. I twisted around, turning my back to him, ignoring him.

A warm hand touching my shoulder made me jump. I swiveled my head on my shoulders, refusing to say anything but stare up at him. He just blinked at my darkest glower, not even flinching from the emerald light that swirled into my irises. "Will you let me explain?" Caramel eyes met me stare for stare; one hostile and tense, the other sad and wistful.

"What was her name?" I repeated, letting my anger settle a bit. The cool burning in my eyes faded slowly away.

"Rose," Former whispered. "Her name was Rose."

I relaxed the rest of the way, letting my eyes close and my head drop a bit. "Rose," I breathed, vowing never to forget that name.

After a second of silence, the hand tightened on my shoulder and I glanced back up. "Let me explain?" he asked softly.

Not quite forgiving him, I nodded slowly. I would _love_ to know why I had to kill that little girl.

"You have two forms?" he wrinkled his forehead in thought, "one's a ghost?"

Confused by the question, I nodded again, twisting my entire body around so that I faced him. If this was going to be long, it wasn't really worth getting a sore neck

He sent me a short smile. "Could you take your ghost form?"

I blinked, tipping my head to the side. "Why?"

"It's easier. I'll explain in a second." He watched me watch him, then he sighed. "I'll answer any questions you want, just… please."

My stomach swirled as energy buzzed in my head, silver light sparkling against the cold walls. I suppressed an unconscious grin as power fizzled in me, flooding my nerves with delicious tingling. Gravity vanished, my own mind taking on the task of keeping me on the cot and not floating up into the air. "What else do you know about her?" I demanded, my eyes hard.

Former's face split into a grin. "That's spectacular," he breathed. "It makes no sense, but yet it's the only reasonable explanation." He looked into my eyes, shaking his head, then let the smile fade from his face. "Rose was from a foster home, she didn't have a family."

"A foster home in Amity Park?"

He blinked at me, then shrugged. "I don't know. I suppose it's possible. Walker sends ghosts out into the human world every so often to pick up kids that have odd abilities. Things that separate them from the rest of the world." Former settled down onto the cot next to me, his eyes lost and unfocused. "Rose had probably been exposed to high levels of ectoplasm at some point in her life. She could see ghosts even when they were invisible." He glanced at me, then back down.

"So…" I tried to figure this out in my head, " Walker's killing people that might be a problem for him later in life?"

Former shook his head, not ever looking up at me. "No, Walker's looking for employees."

I snorted, watching him carefully. Again, the dark man never looked up as I spoke. "So why did I kill her?"

"He offers you a choice," Former whispered. "Work or Pit fighting. Rose refused to work."

I bit back my first snapped question, _why did you pair me up with her_, in favor of a slightly less diplomatic one. "Why did you make me kill her?"

Former's head snapped up, his eyes wide. "I didn't," he said.

"You set up the fights," my eyes began to burn as energy swirled around me. The blades on my arms fizzled and popped as green light flared around them for a second.

"Not yours." The large man shook his head. " Walker's setting up your fights on his own."

I closed my eyes, rubbing my temples, frustrated energy boiling away, leaving my body aching for that comforting feeling of power. "I suppose that makes sense."

" Walker doesn't like you much," he said sourly.

A smile flickered onto my face. "Yeah," I laughed softly, "that's an understatement."

Former matched my sad grin, then looked up at the ghost lights dancing around the ceiling. They swirled and bobbed and raced and twirled, never stopping their eternal, silent ballet. "You've only got three," he said suddenly, "shouldn't you have more?"

"Huh?"

He glanced at me, then shook his head. "Never mind." He watched them flicker for a moment longer. "My lunch break is only so long. Any other questions?"

I narrowed my eyes, fighting the desire to spill all the questions in that were in my head. _Who are you? Where did you come from? Why are you here? Why do you do what you do? Why don't you fight him? What's wrong with you?_ _What's with the Pits? How do I escape? Why can't I walk through the wall and the rat can? _All those wonderful questions, free reign with answers… and the question that popped out of my mouth was, "Why am I a ghost right now?"

Former started to laugh. "That's an odd question."

"Not really," I snapped, annoyed with myself that I had asked such a bizarre question.

He sighed. "It's a long, complicated answer. You sure you want to know?"

I nodded, not taking my eyes off of him. "Can you give me the short answer?"

"I'm deaf." He looked at me out of the corner of my eyes, snickering at my confused expression. "Would you like the slightly longer answer?"

No reply seemed necessary, so I just sat back, carefully crossing my arms. The blades snicked against each other with a light noise like a bell ringing. Behind Former's head, the three ghost lights froze for an instant at the sound before spinning like crazy tops and continuing their dance.

"When I was born, I could hear just fine. _Something_ happened to me when I was five, and I lost my ability to hear." From the tone of his voice, he knew precisely what that _something_ was, but it clearly fell in the not-going-to-talk-about-it category. "I was put into foster care when both my parents died a little later. As the troubled, deaf kid, my chances of getting adopted were small." He hesitated, lost in a memory. "To cut a long story short, I was adopted by two people when I was fourteen – a man named James and a woman named Penelope. Something was up with them, I knew that right off the bat. I hadn't heard anything for nearly ten years, but I could hear James and Penelope. James was so excited. To me, it was so strange, hearing voices again. But only theirs."

"Why?" I broke in, startled.

He grinned. "Turns out I have one of those unique abilities like Rose did. I can't hear a word any human says, but I can hear ghosts just fine."

I blinked at him, comprehension dawning. "That's why I'm a ghost… so you can hear me?"

Nodding, he added, "I can kind of hear you when you're a human too. It was so weird the first time I heard you talk. It's kind of like hearing someone talking through water." He chuckled. "I spent hours trying to figure you out. Never would have guessed you to be part ghost."

"So, how'd you end up here?"

Former sighed, his caramel eyes closing. "I was ready to be happy, to have a family again. I was so excited to be adopted, to have a mother and a father." He was silent for the longest time. Then he chuckled morosely. "I wish they never would have stepped foot in that foster home. I never liked it, but…"

A strange sensation was starting in the pit of my stomach. _James_ _and_ _Penelope._ I knew those names. But it wasn't possible, was it?"

"We were an hour out of the foster home, driving to some strange place in Wisconsin, when I finally got up the nerve to ask my new _parents_ why I could hear them. They explained it was because I had the special ability to hear ghosts – and always know if they are telling the truth or not." Former shivered. "I remember him smiling at me so broadly, my own confusion that I couldn't put together the facts."

"You could hear them because they were ghosts," I breathed, the thoughts coalescing even inside my aching brain.

"Exactly," he whispered.

"James… James Walker…"

He nodded, shutting his eyes. "And Penelope Spectra."

I couldn't get my head around it. I blinked, pushing myself off the cot and hovering in mid-air without really noticing. " Walker's… Walker's… your father?"

"No!" Former snapped. "He's not! My only father died fifteen years ago." The silence that fell between us was deafening. Finally, Former spoke again. "They brought me here, gave me a job to do."

"Why don't you run away? Or fight him? You're not locked up."

He got up off the cot, walking to the door, head bowed, apparently ignoring my question. Hand resting on the doorknob, he turned back to me. "You're right, there are no locks or chains holding me here."

"Then what?"

He tipped his head to the side. "Same reason you killed all those ghosts. Same reason you killed that little human girl. Same reason you'll kill the next person thrown in the arena with you."

The door opened, the guards peaking around the corner at us, waving at Former to leave the room. "I thought your family was dead."

Former shivered. "My _parents_ are dead," he whispered so softly I could barely hear him. Then the door shut and I was alone with my thoughts.

Alone except the dancing ghost lights. For no reason, my head still full of Former's story, I tapped the blades together, listening to the haunting ringing noise. The ghost lights all froze, seeming to stare at me for a second. I just stretched out in mid-air on my back and watched them begin to dance in a frenzy, half-wishing I had asked a Former better question and half-hoping he would come back to talk to me again.

But I was alone, except for my headache and the memories of those I'd killed.

* * *

Two naps, three meals, and an eternity of staring up at the dancing green and blue lights, I was officially bored. Once you've more-or-less come to grips with the deaths of those ghosts that have been murdered… and not willing to contemplate odd, stress-driven dreams… being trapped in a small room with nobody to talk to and nothing to do is boring. Dear reader, I'm not sure you've gotten to this point yet, but let me assure you that it is coming. This room? A boring, depressing hole.

I was also slowly losing my grasp on the feeling of time, so I wasn't entirely sure how much time had really gone by. If I had to haphazard guess, I'd figure two days. It might have been lots more; it might have been quite a bit less.

Random boredom leads the human mind to do weird things. Ghosts can put themselves on 'hold' and just sit there, but humans lack that ability. As I found out, ghost form or human form, hybrids such as myself lack that nice ability also. So, my mind started to find things to do.

There are 315 stones in my ceiling, ranging in size from slightly bigger than my head to about the size of my fist. If you include the walls and the floor, that number increases to either 1,983 or 1,986, I haven't quite decided as my count changes every time. There is a stone just to the right of the door that looks kind of like a square with a black dot on it that is actually loose. Wigging the rock, you can yank it out and there is a small hole back there, but other than that, it's just a tiny hole. It takes exactly five steps to cross my room, about four-and-a-half going the other way, and three steps from floor to ceiling if you happen to be a ghost pacing up and down the walls. There are eighteen knots in the wood that makes up the bottom of my cot, and sixty-three in the door. The number of stones in my room times the number of knots in the wood equals some huge number that I'm not bored enough to figure out… yet.

The entire time – all those countless hours – I was stuck in my cell with nobody to talk to. My headache receded and came back with a vengeance any number of times, bringing dizzying bouts of nausea with it. My whole skin seemed to be on fire at times, aching and burning. Going to ghost mode relieved the pain for awhile, the cool energy of ectoplasm soothing the sensitive, singing feeling, but it inevitably returned.

Finally, I just curled up on the cot and closed my eyes, letting the fiery sensation wash over me. The sound of something rattling my food bowl made me look up, but I sighed when it was just that stupid rat. "Hello again," I muttered, dropping back down onto the pillow. "That stuff isn't really edible," I offered helpfully, "so I don't think you'll want much."

There was, quite predictably, no answer from the rat. It scuffled around in the food for a few more moments before disappearing back under my cot.

I rolled onto my stomach, sticking my head over the edge of the cot to peer into the dark corner. As usual, the rat was nowhere to be seen. "I would kill to know how you do that," I muttered. "Ghosts and humans can't walk through walls… so how can you?"

I snarled sourly. "This stupid place is a mystery wrapped up in an enigma, you know that?" I asked the empty air. "In the human world, ghosts can walk through walls. In the ghost zone, humans can walk through walls. Neither of us can here." I scowled, drumming my fingers against the wooden side of the cot. "So…" an odd thought crossed my mind, "am I even in the ghost zone?"

"Ah!" I dropped my head onto the pillow, burying my face into its thin softness. "This is so stupid. Where else could I freaking be. Of _course_ I'm in the ghost zone. Look at all the ghosts." Reaching my hands under the pillow to stretch, my fingers brushed against the small horde of treasures I'd collected.

The crispy picture of my family came out first, followed by the blood splattered scrunchie. I stared at them, held tightly in my fingers, the objects a clear symbol of why I'm alive. Why I fight.

My family was still alive, although probably desperate to know where I am. Slowly, almost sadly, I brushed my finger over the picture of my parents, wondering if Jazz ever told them that I was really half ghost. She always said that she put _me_ before some stupid secret. She had to have told them by now – maybe they were even searching the ghost zone for me.

And the scrunchie. Sam and Tucker… dead. I shivered, pushing the family photo back under the pillow. I gazed at the purple hair tie, pictures of Sam drifting into my head. The fact that Tucker might be dead was horrible, but Sam… that was a whole new level of pain. It felt like something had been torn from me. A piece of my soul that had gone missing.

My eyes closed, fingers clenching around the bloody purple scrunchie. I pressed my fist against my forehead, letting my mind drift. I could see Sam in my head. For a second, all I could see what that vague image of Sam running away from me in terror, but I pushed it away. Finally, she was smiling at me, her soft hair blowing in an unseen breeze. A smile slid onto my face as I watched her laugh at something, reaching her fingers up to play with her green scrunchie.

I froze, the image of Sam engraving itself into my mind. The green scrunchie almost seemed to glow against her dark hair.

Slowly, I opened my fist and stared down at the purple scrunchie Walker had given me.

I was still laughing when the guards came to get me for my next fight.

* * *

I trudged out into the assigned pit with a weary reluctance. I was back in pit two… the one that was trying its best to be completely dark but yet still offer the crowds something to see. The guards behind me were tense, waiting for me to do something to resist our forward momentum, but I did nothing.

The silky-sweet taste of fear and terror wasn't tainting the air, so I assumed that my opponent was a ghost this time around. I didn't have any idea what was coming; Former had refused to talk to me, to even look at me, really. I had even changed into my ghost form so that I _know_ he could hear me, but he hadn't said anything.

"Have a good fight," was all he had said as I was pushed out the door.

And so, here I was, heading out to a fight to kill another opponent I knew nothing about. A ghost – or so I hoped. Ghost's deaths were easier to think about than human deaths, however morbid and wrong the thought of killing anything was.

I hesitated before stepping onto the muddy sand of the pit, realizing with a sinking feeling that this fight was taking place rather late in the day. The ectoplasm and human blood was almost _flooding_ the arena. So many had already died…

Slowly, against my will, I was pushed out into the pit. My first step sunk into the muddy ground beyond my ankle and I had to phase my leg to keep from getting stuck. It took just a few strides to realize that it wasn't getting any better – if anything, it was getting worse. Finally employing my mind, I kept my feet from sinking into the mud and tripping me up.

But it was still horrible to think about what I was walking on. How many souls had been snuffed out to create this macabre bog…

The guards, as usual, gave me a rough push when they reached my starting spot. I fell into a crouch, trying to keep from dropping into the mud. After a moment to regain my balance, my eyes were scanning the pit, searching for my opponent.

The ghost wasn't too hard to spot.

The darkness seemed to condense in one corner, hiding the walls completely from view. _That's_ where the ghost was, I knew that. But I was still surprised when a glob of the blackness seemed to break away from the others and take a solitary step forwards. The dark was pervasive; the only thing I was able to make out by the dim overhead lights was something silvery and sharp that gleamed and sparkled.

Another step out of the darkness and the black glob suddenly developed eyes. A shimmering icy blue, they stared at me, narrowed and focused. I shivered under their unhesitating glare, taking a small step backwards. "Hello?" I said stupidly, my voice quavering. What I had hoped to accomplish by greeting this _thing_ I will never know.

It replied rather simply. It chuckled. The chill, freezing sound drifted out through the pit, ringing deep inside my soul. "Hello, my pretty oyster," malice dripped from his tenor voice. He twisted his hand, the gleaming silver metal dipping sideways. For the first time, I got a good look at his weapon: it was a deadly-looking scythe. "Would you like to play?"

A blast of cold wind shot from the ghost. It picked up mud and blood as it raced towards me, gaining strength. By the time it hit me, it was a wall of gale-force wind. I crouched down, raising my hands to try to keep the picked-up gunk from getting in my eyes, but the force of the wind was too great. It picked me up like I was nothing more than a small twig and slammed me backwards into the pit walls. For a few seconds it held me there, helpless and unable to move. Then, just as suddenly as it appeared, the mini tornado was gone.

I staggered as I hit the ground, barely keeping my feet. Reddish and greenish mud was burning in my eyes and fouling my mouth – I didn't spare the scythe-bearing ghost a second thought. I rubbed my eyes and spat out the iron and pepper flavored muck, completely forgetting that I just could have turned intangible for a second.

Instincts screamed at me between gasps for breath and I ducked, a whir of sound passing right over my head. Fighting to get my eyes open, I backpedaled, following the curve of the wall with one hand. Finally I could see, blinking through tears.

The ghost was a few feet away, standing sideways to me, head turned in my direction. I could feel my breath catch in my throat as I stared in wondrous fear. Shrouded in a ragged black cape, the only features that could be seen were his two, glowing, malicious eyes and the silvery gleam of its sickle. Darkness seemed to coalesce around its feet, billowing away like fog. He was the freaking _Grim Reaper_.

"I am Muerto," the ghost said calmly, his deadly voice cutting to my very core. "And you, little oyster, have just survived longer than any other ghost before you." The scythe was lowered to point in my direction. "Congratulations are in order." Muerto's speech was perfect, enunciating every sound, his words cutting off cleanly.

"Now what?" I asked shakily, still backing away. This ghost was _radiating_ evil power. The last thing I wanted to do what fight him.

"Do you like poetry young oyster?"

I blinked, started by the question. "What?"

"Poetry. Poe, Carroll, and the like." The clarification was accompanied by a sideways tip of his head.

Slowly I shook my head. "Not really."

"A pity," he sighed. "Then you won't have nearly as much fun, tasty oyster. Which do you think – am I more a walrus or a carpenter?"

"What?" I whispered, completely confused.

The sickle sliced through the air as he twirled it like a cheerleader's baton. "I suppose it doesn't matter, the oysters always die at the end, eaten by the two friends." He was silent for a moment, an air of mourning around him. Then he looked back up at me, his sapphire eyes shining. "So, let us remove you from your shell, little oyster."

Muerto attacked without seeming to move, his scythe crackling with icy blue power. It slipped through the air, cutting towards me at about neck height. Still scrambling and half-blinded by the muck that had been thrown at me, I stumbled to the ground, falling on my back. Instantly, Muerto was over me, the sharp point of his weapon pointing right at my nose. "Well," he said conversationally, "since you _obviously_ are not well read on Lewis Carroll, let's try something else." He leaned over me, his chilly, rancid breath blowing in my face. "Quoth the raven, 'Nevermore.'"

I felt an icy hand gripping my chest, making my stomach churn and my brain freeze over. As the scythe's tip danced closer to my face, I could do nothing but watch it come, pressing myself deeper into the muck. "No," I whispered, my eyes closing involuntarily.

_"Do I really need to protect you?" Ember rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "Can't you even fight this guy? He's just a stupid ghost pretending to be death."_

_"But… but…" my argument trailed off as I stared at her, my mind still trying to figure out where she had come from. "Oh no," I whispered as the truth of the situation slammed into me. "I died and now I'm trapped with you forever."_

_She glared at me. "Idiot," she hissed. "You're not dead yet. But you will be if you don't get up and fight."_

_"I can't," I whined, pushing myself into a sitting position._

_"Are you _scared_? Have you even _tried_?" she sneered. "Fight him."_

_"How?"_

_Suddenly she was right in front of me. Her façade faded away, leaving me staring straight into my own green eyes. "The power is in us. Fight him."_

My eyes flickered open, focusing instantly on the point of the scythe grazing my nose.

_"Fight him."_

Power trickled through me, tickling against my senses like a cool breeze. Muero didn't seem to notice the dim glow of my hands as I pushed them into the frozen mud. I was still unable to move, the invisible, icy grip on my chest tightening, forcing my brain into spirals of panic and fear.

_"Fight!"_

All the sudden, energy exploded inside of me, racing away from me like an emerald wave. Muerto was tossed across the small pit, slamming against the wooden planks on the other side. As the fist inside my chest dissolved away, I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the loud cheers of the crowd.

"Stay off of me," I panted, rubbing my breast bone as I watched his shadowy form rise to his feet.

"Oh, young reader who so fears the demon's bird," Muerto breathed, his voice barely sounding over the raucous crowed, "say hello to poor Lenore when you see her." He slammed his staff into the mud before him, his azure eyes glowing like small suns. "Nevermore."

Blue-white lighting crackled around the blade of the scythe, arching and sparking, then raced down the length of the ebony staff. It plowed into the muddy ground like a small explosion, throwing gobs of muck in every direction. Deep cracks and crevasses snaked away from him, all of them racing in my direction, the sapphire lighting fizzling within their depths. A heartbeat, the blink of an eye, a half-thought – and they were at my feet, dancing within their holes.

Then, as one, they blazed upwards, slamming into my feet before I had a chance to do anything but comprehend that there was no escape. Burning pain etched across the soles of my feet and up my legs for a moment before I was tossed into the air. The power of the lightning was so great that I slammed – back first – into the shield still going full-speed.

The energy from the shield instantly sizzled into me, holding me in place for a few moments, extending the torture. I couldn't hold back the wild scream any more. It tore from my throat, echoing against the domed ceiling. I felt myself dropping away from the shield, the flaring, sharp pain fleeing from me slowly.

My fall halted a few feet from the ground… more due to the instinctive fear of how painful contact with any surface would be than any real desire to levitate on my part. My feet felt like they were on _fire_, my legs were twitching from the uncontrollable energy, and my back and head were sizzling from the shield. I raised my arm dimly, watching steam and smoke rising from the back of my hand. A painful chuckle almost slipped out of my mouth at the sight. The energy surge had dried all the mud, leaving only a thick coat of dust behind. I shook my hand, wincing at my aching muscles, watching the reddish- and greenish-tinted powder float down like ash to sprinkle on the muddy floor.

"You know," I rasped, twisting my head to stare in the direction of Muerto. The ghost was standing stiffly, his scythe held at attention. "I've read that poem – the one with the bird." A cough wracked through me, my body fighting to get the dust out of my lunge. "The reader, the writer – whatever – doesn't die."

Muerto tipped his head to the side, still calm and cool. "Really?"

"I always thought it was the raven that died in the end." I clenched my fingers, fighting to keep the flinch of pain out of my face, and energy tingled into existence around my fist. The cool power was numbing against the ache of my muscles.

"Poetry is in the eye of the beholder," Muerto agreed after a moment. "Perhaps the poem was a bad choice. However, it does not change the fact that you will not survive this day." The blue-white lightning once again began to dance along his black scythe. "Raven or reader, this poem has reached its end." I blinked, and by the time my eyes were open again, he was half way across the pit, crackling weapon aimed straight at me.

Fear and rage, hurt and pain commanded my movements. My brain no longer had any say in what was happening – I was moving on pure instinct and desire to survive. I ducked under _another_ slice for my neck, my foot slamming out in a simple kick. A yelp of pain leaked from my lips when it connected with his chest, throwing him backwards for a moment.

Using the momentum from my kick, I flipped over in a neat back flip, making sure to stop my fall before I touched the ground. My burned feet hovering inches from the muck, I dropped into a crouch, watching Muerto collect himself. For a moment, I paused, my aching muscles screaming for me to _stop_ moving. But I couldn't.

I had to finish this fight, and soon. My body couldn't stand up to much more of this.

We stared at each other, the sounds of the cheering, screaming crowds fading away, our whole existence focused on other. The blades sparkled out of the corner of my eye. Memories swirled into my brain, flitting fireflies in the darkness of the pit.

_The energy should have just flown past my fingers. Instead, it swirled between my fingers, then arched back over my wrist. My eyes widened as the green energy snaked around my arm, then cascaded up onto the blade. The energy collected on the silvery metal, flaring and building. It glowed brighter and brighter, until, with an almost audible crack, it blazed along the blade and blasted through the air. The flare of energy slammed into the ground a few feet to Doric's left. It exploded._

Another touched through me:

_The blade sliced through the air, ectoplasm fizzing along its length. Just before it carved into Doric, the silvery blade suddenly flared an electric emerald, the sword nearly doubling in length and sending sparks of energy drifting into the air. The blade sliced straight through the ghost's middle with barely any resistance._

Then a third:

_Former laughed as he tightened the straps around my arms. "We only give these blades to humans, so you don't have to worry about Crusher having them. I heard that they used to give them to ghosts – back before humans in the Pits was legal – but some ghosts had some kind of psychosomatic connection with the ecto- part of the ectoluminum and made it kind of unfair. So now it's just humans like you and me."_

Another memory on its heels:

_Mary snarled, flipping through her charts, mumbling to herself. "It's probably developed some sort of spectral connection to the ectoluminum in the blades." Her cold eyes flickered from me to the clipboard and back. "If your description of the problem is at all accurate," she said scathingly to the ghost, "which I personally doubt, then the blades have probably fused into its ghost form."_

All within a heartbeat. Trembling slightly, I raised one blade up before my eyes, thoughts converging in my head. _Spectral connection_… the doctor's voice echoed. These _blades_ are some kind of power source, some kind of filter… they make me _stronger_… They are a _part of me…_

Could I do it again?

Agonizingly wonderful energy cascaded through me like an approaching thunderstorm. It swept up from my burning feet, sliced through my stomach, exploded in my head with an almost audible roar, and coalesced in my outstretched hands with pinpricks of aching delight. I steadied it with my mind, forcing that raw energy into a simple sphere. I held it carefully, completely aware of the uncontrollable power between my palms.

Despite the aching pain in every pore of my body, I could barely bite back a grin as zaps of stray energy burst like little bubbles in my mind. The power was intoxicating. I set my gaze on Muerto, watched him back up a step at the display. But I wasn't just going to blast him like I would have normally.

I _focused_, channeling the energy back through my hands and up my arms. It fizzled, tickling, almost painful as it arced through me and collected on the two silvery blades. I could feel the power sparkling along the sharp edges, tingling against my nerves. Instantly they took on a greenish shine, sparking, hissing, steaming, and glowing in the dimness. Energy continued to build as I pushed it into the ectoluminum blades, the glow escalating until it had burned away the darkness of the pit.

If I would have been paying any attention to the pit's spectators, I would have noticed that they had grown completely silent and still, watching in growing horror and excitement. But my attention was fixed on Muerto, who was pressing his back against the wall as far from me as he could get.

I pointed a blade in his direction, my mind stuttering around the idea that I would have to kill. _Again_. "Nevermore," I said sadly.

Muerto nodded, dropping his hands to his side and letting his staff fall into the muck. Slowly, dejectedly, he raised his hands up and pushed the hood back off of his head. His white skin was burned and puckered, his skull cracked in places. "And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor," he whispered, closing his sapphire eyes, "shall be lifted – nevermore."

The attack was swift and silent. I buried the star-like blades in the ghost's chest, flinching away from the sudden cry of pain that escaped Muerto's burned lips, and _released_ the build-up of energy.

The explosion sent me reeling across the room, throwing me into the far wall with a scream of pain. Although I halted my fall before I landed on the ground, every nerve of my body was shrieking in agony. Only one thought managed to squirm through the torture that was my form: _Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop…_

After a few deep breaths, the pain began to recede. Not by much, but my mind was able to start working again. It's one of the good things about ghosts: pain doesn't last very long. I just contented myself with hovering there, eyes firmly shut, trying desperately to push the agony out of my mind. The sooner I forgot about it, the quicker it would heal and be gone.

_"Better," Ember's voice soothed. "I may not have to protect you too much after all."_

_"Stay out of my head," I hissed. "I didn't want to fight him."_

_"No," she said sadly, "we don't _want_ to fight. But we have to, don't we?" For a moment – an eternal heartbeat – she was silent. "But it's not all bad, you know. Open your eyes."_

Blinking tears out of my eyes, I forced my eyes to open, scanning the pit. Scattered around me were bits and pieces of evaporating ghost, a crowd that was slowly shaking off the surprise of my attack and beginning to cheer… but there was nothing else other than deep, dark shadows.

I sighed, turning around and leaving the remains of Muerto. My head was still spinning from the dizzying concoction of power that had flowed unchecked through my veins. Floating above the bloody, freezing muck, I headed towards the doors that would let me out of this awful place.

I hated this place. Briefly, my eyes shot up to me Walker's as he glowered down at me from his gilded throne. The warden was sitting back, arms crossed, a look of satisfaction on his face. _I win, punk_, I could hear his voice hissing in my mind. _How could you ever think to defeat me?_

My gaze flickered to the side, to the green enshrouded ghost standing in the crowd off to his right. Slowly, the ghost held up one hand, pointing a silver finger to the side. I followed his finger, blinking in surprise as I noted another ghost cloaked in dark green. Like the first one, this ghost was not partying and screaming like the rest. The new ghost was shorter, less bulky, and sent me a slow nod.

I blinked at them, fighting to prevent the grin forming on my face. I had no proof, I had nothing but feelings… but I knew these ghosts were there to help me. They had some kind of plan.

Twisting around away from the 'rebel' ghosts, for just a second my gaze fell on the thick, green mist that had once been Muerto. My breath caught in my throat and I choked, swallowing hard, forcing myself to accept what had happened. I couldn't panic… I couldn't let Walker win…

A small flicker of light rose out of the dispersing, glowing fog. It trembled, a tiny pinpoint of glowing green that hovered in the air. I stared at it, my mouth falling open in surprise as the light floated closer to me, coming to a standstill a hair's breadth from my nose. Suddenly it took off, dancing out of the pit with joyous little spins and twirls.

I watched it go, completely confused, but for some reason bizarrely happy.

The guards froze in place at my simple smile, eyes wide and deathly pale faces tense. I just floated past them out of the arena, ignoring the screaming crowds and mocking laughter.

Day six was over. Day seven… the "Day of the Wish" was here.

* * *

_"What?" the young woman said, staring down words at the end of the page. "Wish?"_

_Then, very slowly, she reached down and picked up the object that had fallen from the back of the notebook. She gazed at the crumbled, scarred edges before letting her eyes drift over the glossy finish of the rest. Blood splatters, creases, wet spots, and grime made the picture almost impossible to make out - but it was there. A woman, dressed in blue, seated at a table, a look of fear and despair on her face. "His family?"_

_She flipped it over trailing her fingers over a few words she had spotted earlier. Almost illegible due to the water damage, it took her a while to figure it out. "A treasure hidden is worth the risk."_

_"What does that mean?" she wondered. Then she laughed. "He thinks he's got some mystery on his hands, trying to figure out why he can't walk through walls. Mine's better. Now you've just thrown another into my lap, mystery boy."_

_Suddenly she shivered, a distant scream drifting through the door. For a moment she held perfectly still, but then she relaxed and turned the page. But instead of reading, she just stared down at the words, the cramped writing blurring and dancing before her eyes.._

_"I can't read any more right now," she sighed. "I need a break. Besides, it's another one of those inserted pages by that mysterious ghost." Setting the notebook carefully under the bed, she stood up, stretching._

_Before she could do much more than pace the room a few times, the heavy wooden door slammed open. She twirled around, gazing in horror at the figure in the doorway. A withered, skull-like head with an out-dated hat, raisin eyes and a huge, white coat. " Walker," she whispered, backing away and tripping over the cot._

_As she scrambled into the corner, terror leaking out of her in waves, the warden stalked into the room. For a moment he held perfectly still, absorbing her intoxicating flavor of fear, but then he scowled. "Where is it?" he snarled. "Where is my treasure?!"_

_Lost under the cot, there was no one to open the notebook and read…_


	10. Interlude: Treasures

_Left forgotten under the cot, the notebook fluttered open under a ghostly breeze as Walker slammed the cell door shut and advanced towards his latest prisoner. Huddled on the thin blankets of the cot, the young woman was screaming and praying. The words on the page - written with a neat, prefect type - were easy to read, even in the darkness of its hiding space. The loose page fluttered as Walker unknowingly kicked the book farther back into the shadows..._

* * *

My claws clicked lightly on the stone floor as I raced through the darkened hallways. In many ways, the Pits are like the great Roman Coliseum, not just in function – but also in form. The rounded pits are at the top surrounded by stadium bleachers, and the rows and rows of prisoner's cells wound their way underground like a giant ant colony. I skittered up a shadowed stairway and found myself on the employee's floor; above the frozen prisoner's quarters, but not yet into the relative warmth of the pits.

Although better lit and decorated, this entire wing of the Pits complex still made shivers run up my spine. I sniffed the air, making sure the occupants were safely asleep before scampering lightly down the hallway. _L'Jai, you are a freaking genius,_ I commended, grinning with delight.

Hesitating before an unmarked doorway, I cocked my head, listening. Distantly, I could hear sobs and wracking crying. Just for a moment I paused, curling my chill tail around my feet, my head bowed. A mere twenty-one years old, and already the young man was dying. Hopefully my plan would do _something_ to help the boy. I sighed and shook my head. Wasn't it just yesterday that the boy had been dragged here? Human lives are just so _short_.

Dragging my mind back to the present, I continued my rapid stalking down the corridor. The chambers I was searching for was still one floor up. Creeping up carpeted stairs, I froze every few steps, listening intently, looking around.

The warden wasn't supposed to be in his rooms tonight; he was scheduled to be working at the prisons. Without the warden, hopefully there would be few guards. Carefully crouching at the top of the stairs, I gazed down the arrogantly decorated hallway with my sapphire eyes, barely able to reign in a snort of disgust.

Gold foil covered every decoration and column from pedestal to capital, gleaming gems and exotic jewels encrusted platinum and gold baubles and doodads, delicate mother of pearl flowers sprouted out of intricate vases. Elaborate paintings hung from the walls; no doubt each one was priceless – and stolen. I crept down the hall, trying to ignore the plush carpet under my feet. _How many souls had to pay for this to happen?_ I wondered as I slipped beneath an ancient smelling chair. _It's revolting._

Finally I reached the gilded doors which lead to Walker's 'estate.' I gazed up at them with a barely repressed sigh, letting my eyes drift over the simple, ancient designs etched into the door. The dark wood was beautiful and warm where it came up against the soft, reddish gold of the runes. For a moment my mind drifted back to when the entire place was as understated and simple as these untouched relics of the past. Uncomplicated tile work, colorful frescos, modest splendor…

Digging my claws into the thick carpet, I yanked my thoughts out of the past once again. _That_ palace vanished long ago. With the true rulers gone, the city was left to crumble. The _Pits_ were left to flourish. _Walker_ was left to rule in his ostentatious way. And me? I was just _left_…

The small snarl that was snaking out of my throat startled me. I forced it back, glancing around to make sure no random guards had heard. Walking up to press my nose against the ebony wood, I breathed in the waxy, flowery, sweet smells of the door. Not a single wisp of contamination. _Perfect!_

While getting out of the room wouldn't be a problem once I had Walker's little treasure, getting in had taken some careful plotting on my part and it was all falling into place. The whole, convoluted plan revolved around one small weakness Walker obviously didn't know he had: the door itself.

Gazing up at the simple, gleaming traceries of gold against the soft wood, I couldn't hold back my grin anymore. Taking one last look around for guards, I settled down on the floor, curling my tail neatly around my feet, and closed my glowing eyes. The ancient door hadn't been tampered with, so I'd still be able to get through. But not as a rat; I'd have to go in as _myself_.

It had been so long since I had walked around in my true form, I wasn't really sure if I could even do it anymore. Breathing slowly, carefully, focusing deeply, I struggled to find that place inside of myself that was a bit more human than rodent. My fur began to tingle, my tail twitching unconsciously. Claws dug deep into the carpet, sharp teeth clenching at the painful stinging that was enveloping my mind.

Slowly, agonizingly, time passed. Nails that used to be able to find purchase in the rug were growing blunt. My body ached and groaned as it grew and stretched, the tail and dark fur vanishing. A seeming eternity later, I was sitting, crouched, on the ground. Panting, I raised one hand up in front of my face, squinting through the sudden darkness that surrounded me. Five human-like fingers attached to a pale arm.

Chunks of my longish hair dangled in my face, tickling my nose. Even though exhaustion was threatening to overwhelm my mind, I pushed the human hand through the black hair on my head, carefully tucking the light blue streaks behind my ears. Then I staggered to my feet, dizzy at the sudden head rush. "Slow down," I hissed sourly, leaning heavily against the door. "You haven't stood up in a hundred years, idiot."

I waited, my mind adjusting to the fact that my head was more than a few inches above the floor. Taking a deep breath, I reached out, wrapped my fingers around door handle. A soft click echoed through the darkened corridor and my grin grew. Pushing open the now unlocked door, I walked slowly into the room. _I love these unlocking doors!_ I laughed in my head.

As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I glanced around the suite of rooms that Walker called 'home.' The grandiose feel of the hallway continued in this room. Gold and silver flecked marble, pearlescent accents, thick silks and rich colors. The opulence was suffocating, everything so dark and perfect. I took a few steps into the room, glancing around in disbelief. The last time I had been in here, just before the Falling, the place had conveyed a subtle elegance – an open, bright feeling. A happy place. But now…

A movement out of the corner of my eye made me twist, unconsciously baring my teeth and holding out my fingers like they still had claws, tense and ready to fight. However, all I could do was grin sheepishly at my reflection and I straighten. "That's so cliché," I whispered. "Stupid mirror."

Pushing my hand through my shoulder-length hair once more, getting it back out of my eyes, I studied my reflection as a bit of surprise tickled by mind. I was several thousand years old – yet the young man gazing out of the mirror didn't seem more than twenty. Simple, white, sleeveless robes fell down to my knees, belted over neutral pants and shirt. My bright, sapphire eyes sparkled in the dim light. I snickered softly. "Just give me a mop and a bucket and you'd never be able to tell any time had passed."

Something moved out at the end of the hallway, and I very quietly pushed the door shut. It was most likely the brainless guards making their rounds, not really anything to worry about, but it jerked me back to reality. I needed to find Walker's treasure _before_ I got caught.

I picked my way around the room, poking my fingers into pots and small boxes. "If I were Walker, where would I hide my most precious possession?" Wandering into one of the side rooms, I forced myself to ignore the repulsive lavishness of the room. "Something powerful, something so _key_ to his rule..."

Continuing to muse aloud, I slid from room to room, unable to find what I was looking for. Frustration began to work into my mind_. Walker never brings it out of the Pits. He leaves it here, that much I know. But where did he HIDE the stupid thing?_

Finally I ended up in Walker's bed room. The giant, canopy bed was covered in blood-red silk. Slowly running my hand over the soft, chill blanket, I couldn't help the shiver that raced up my spine. "On the one hand, it's so hard to see Walker being the kind of spirit who would indulge in this kind of stuff." I cocked my head to the side, gazing around the room. "On the other hand," I added sourly, my eyes taking in the gory, tortured scenes on the wall and the various bloody shades of crimson on every surface, "yeah, this is him in a nutshell."

"So," I continued, tearing my disgusted eyes away from a particularly… sensual blood-splattered scene, "if I was addicted to gore and terror and such, where would I keep a blood covered treasure?"

Completely against my will, my eyes drifted back to that horrifying scene. Then I spun around, gazing back at the bed. With a derisive snort, I knelt down and started to poke around under the bed. "Well, if blood and guts is your thing, you'd probably keep in by your bed someplace, right?"

Striking out on the bed idea, I dropped onto the sheets and scowled. _All this work…_

Crossing my legs, I sighed, propping my head on my hands. "Where haven't I looked?" I wondered softly. My mind trailed back to the hybrid that was sitting in his cell right now, shivering. "The boy has treasures…" I trailed off, thinking. "Maybe…"

With a look of disgust, I grabbed Walker's feather pillows and tossed them onto the ground. Sitting there, cushioned by expensive silken fabrics, was the bloody treasure I'd been looking for. "That is just gross, Walker," I moaned. "You _sleep_ with the thing?"

I picked it up between two fingers, grimacing at the slimy feel, and then hurried out of the room. Hesitating just on this side of the ancient doors, I listened for the guards. When only silence met my questing ears, I pushed the door open and slid out into the hallway. My sandaled feet whispered against the soft rugs and pattered down the stone stairs.

Pausing for a dangerous moment outside of a certain door, I listened for the soft crying that I had heard before. Smiling softly when I realized that the young man had finally fallen asleep, I hurried on my way. This was the most dangerous part of this plan. If I were seen, I won't be able to use the excuse of just being some rodent wandering a deserted hallway.

But nothing slowed my way as I raced through the deserted, darkened hallways. Skidding to a stop outside of room 143, I hesitated for a moment, looking around. Then I reached out with the hand that held Walker's bloody possession, touching the sharp, metal point to the door. The heavy lock clanked loudly and I quickly pushed the door open, anxious to be out of the hallway.

The boy was asleep on his cot, not having noticed his door open and shut. I dropped the treasure to the floor, reaching over to pull the blanket tighter around the hybrid's shoulders. Sweat dripped from his reddened forehead. Carefully I placed my hand against his forehead, flinching at the overly warm feeling.

Letting my human form dissolve away, I twitched my tail and licked my whiskers, thinking. The boy getting sick was not part of the plan – that could throw everything off. I should have expected it with the freezing temperatures, lack of proper food, and the exposure to all sorts of blood. Scowling at this unanticipated twist, I pushed the now-heavy treasure deeper under the cot.

If he died in his next fight because he was too sick to move, my carefully woven plan would shatter like a glass ball dropped from the roof. _I may as well not have gone through the trouble of stealing this bloody thing if he's just going to die on me. _Something would need to be done. I hesitated when the sharp point of the treasure pressed into the solid walls of the corner.

Slowly, a plan formed in my head. I waited, ears twitching, until it solidified the rest of the way. _That just might work…_

Grinning in delight, I curled up under the cot for a moment, my tail resting on the treasure. _Perfect_. Then, with a chuckle directed towards the sleeping boy above me, I headed through the space between the walls, dragging Walker's most treasured possession behind me. _He has got no idea what he's in for._

* * *

The mirror was glittering darkly before my eyes. I drummed my claws with metallic little clinks against Walker's treasure. While normally I would have been ecstatic about the lack of images filing before my eyes, the complete lack-there-of at this exact _moment_ was driving me nuts. "What, is there no angst in the world?" I snapped sourly, fiddling with the controls.

Light one, nothing. Light two, nada. Light three, static. For a second I waited, hoping that maybe an image would reveal itself, but nothing. I was twiddling the knob to move from light seven to light eight when an image flickered across the screen. I held perfectly still, my nose twitching in impatience.

The picture wavered again, a kitchen spinning into existence for a heartbeat. "It's there," I breathed, fine tuning the controls with tiny movements. "Come on, please…"

"_Jazz…" _the word whispered in the air around me, thick with static.

I grinned, tapping the controls a bit more. Slowly, almost painfully slowly, the image appeared on the screen. I squinted at the fuzzy image, scuttling backwards a few feet to try and make it easier to see. "Oh come on," I hissed when I still couldn't make out what it was. There was a blue blob sitting next to a brown blob with a smallish black and blue blob moving back and forth across the screen. "Get angry, get depressed, get _something_. Help me out here."

"_Mom… _crackle …_to you._"

Suddenly the image jumped into crystal clear view. I jumped, almost knocking the controls out of alignment. Still blinking in surprise, I gazed up at the view. The bluish blob was a middle-aged human woman sitting at a kitchen table, the black-blue blob was a young woman pacing back and forth. "Wow," I whispered, sitting up to watch the show, "emotions are really flowing now."

"_About what, Sweetie_?" the woman was saying, glancing up from the table. The table looked like it was strew with papers. I wanted to zoom in to see what they were, but I didn't dare touch the controls. The fact that I was getting any picture at all was a miracle; ghost lights are not made to be outside of the Pits.

"_About Danny._" My ears twitched. These people were… the hybrid's family?

The mother was silent, her hands moving over the table, picking up the small, oddly shaped pieces of paper and setting them back down. The only sounds I could hear was the static's crackling.

"_Danny had a secret…_ crackle… _afraid. I need to tell you._" The girls' voice didn't quite match the movements of her mouth. I leaned closer. The boy has a secret?

"_Do you know where he is, Jazz?_"

The girl – Jazz – was shaking her head. The image flickered dangerously for a moment before settling back down. "_No, not for sure. _Crackle…_ maybe this will help._"

"_It's Danny's secret…_ crackle… _tell us when he gets home._"

Jazz stormed across the kitchen and slammed her hands against the table. "_Mom, he's not coming not on his own! He would have by now. Stop that._"

"_He'll come home_." She stared down at the table, picking at the edges of a large piece of paper. "_He's coming home_."

As the crackling silence filled the air, I twitched my tail in frustration. "What are you looking at?" I wondered sourly, getting up the nerve to actually touch the controls. I zoomed in on the paper, annoyed when it became obvious that the paper was actually upside down and no amount of work on my part would reveal what it was.

"_Mom,_" the girl said, plopping down into the chair as I let the image fade back to encompass the entire kitchen. "_You remember that accident Danny got into in the lab?_"

The woman flinched, the crackling static covering up her words.

"_What is that?_" Jazz suddenly reached forwards, snatching the paper out from under her mother's fingers and flipping it over.

I grinned, instantly zooming in to catch a glimpse of what was on the mysterious paper. Blinking, I stopped, staring. It was a picture of the hybrid. White hair, green eyes, and… "Is that a reward poster?" I glanced from the mother's face to the daughter's, watching the tears trickle down one and the shock and surprise appearing on the other.

"_You knew?_" Jazz whispered, her voice full of ache and shock.

The mother shook her head. "_Not for sure, not until just now_. _But… _crackle." The image flickered to black.

Curling my claws into the rodent equivalent of a fist, I held back from whapping the mirror. It chose the worst moments to cut out, it always did. "What did she say?" I hissed as my tail twitched and curled. "Bring the picture back!"

Just before I reached out to fiddle with the controls, the view of the hybrid's family was back. The mother was talking, slowly shaking her head. "Crackle_… obvious in a scary kind of way. They look so much alike – I noticed that right off the bat. I just figured he was some kind of throw-off or manifestation due to the accident. Humans can't have ghost powers… _crackle."

"_How did you figure it out?_"

Suddenly I understood. The mother hadn't known the boy was a hybrid. "He kept it a secret for nearly two years?" I murmured in surprise. I had seriously misjudged the boy; he was a much better actor and liar than I gave him credit for.

"_I'm not sure,_" she said, so softly I could barely make it out over the static. "_I just woke up this morning and I knew._" The mother looked up, the tears still sparkling on her cheek. "_Where is my son?_"

"_I don't know, Mom."_ The girl was staring down at the poster, silent for so long. The entire image seemed frozen in time. "_There's no sign of him in the human world… maybe we need to check the Ghost Zone… _crackle."

The woman picked the poster out of her daughter's hand, setting it back down on the paper-strewn table. "_More? What do you mean by more?_"

"_Tucker, Sam, and I have been looking, and we can't find him. But you're a ghost expert._"

"_I hunted my own son, how does that make me an expert on anything?_" she said sourly, standing up and pacing across the kitchen.

The girl was silent. I watched the expressions flit across the mother's face with a grin of delight. The hybrid was from a _very_ interesting family. That sister of his was incredible; she just sat there and let the mother stew in her own thoughts. Smart… dangerously smart. Just for a second, I felt a twinge of fear pass through my mind. If I wasn't careful, this family – whom I seriously underestimated as a whole – would make my plans fall apart. So carefully executed, so carefully planned, so delicate…

"_We're going to need some kind of probe._" Her eyes were glazed over, thinking. I shivered. I could almost see the gears turning the woman's head – oh yes, I had severely misjudged this family. "_Maybe by modifying that new ectoglider…"_

I laughed as the picture faded back out. I tapped the controls, letting the image flicker through the rest of the ghost lights. It was doubtful I was going to get that image back anyway, all the good emotions were gone.

All was going to plan. I had Walker's treasure, the hybrid's family was doing their part by coming to 'rescue' the boy, the boy himself was busy falling apart, Walker was being himself… only one last thing to make sure was falling into place.

The ghost lights flickered obediently at my commands. The image I called up was crystal clear – emotions ran thick in the Pits. Two green cloaked ghosts sat in a small room, their heads together. The larger one's silver hands were flapping into the air, talking. "We need more," the ghost hissed.

"Kiuj alia ni povas fidas?" the shorter ghost whispered, pushing its hood back a bit. I caught just the glimpse of a wolf-like muzzle. "Fantoma ne estos fina multe pli longa."

"I don't understand a word you're saying," the silver ghost muttered darkly. "Why can't you learn to speak English like normal prey?"

"Estas parto de mia malbeno."

Green eyes rolled. "Fine. So we're clear on the plan?"

"Jes." This was accompanied by a vigorous nodding of the ghost's head.

"Good. Get busy. Look up everybody you've ever met that might be sympathetic to our cause. Low key, remember? Walker can't find out."

"Jes, mi memoras."

The silver ghost smiled, his vicious grin visible even in the depths of his shadowed hood. "Let's go save the whelp."

The image vanished into a blur of faces and cells. That was it. My plan was right on track. Settling down onto the ground to wait, I couldn't help the wide smile that was crossing my face.

* * *

_The young woman dropped to the ground as soon as Walker stormed out of the cell, tears dried up, painful sobs still wracking her body. She curled her arms around her bruised and sliced stomach, pressing her forehead into the cool stone floor._

_"I don't know," she cried to herself, her voice raspy and broken. "I don't know."_

_Deep under the cot, the journal fluttered, its pages rustling. But the young woman didn't care. She closed her eyes, agony screaming through every pore of her body. A small rat appeared from behind the journal, sneaking up to press its cold nose against her cheek, sapphire eyes worried. But the girl didn't respond._

_She was finally unconscious._


	11. Page 8

"Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow," I moaned as the freezing water cascaded over my burned and abused body. I was still solidly in ghost form, floating a few inches off the floor; the desire to have my feet actually _touch_ the ground was as far from my head as possible. Seven guards were arranged around the room, thirteen wary eyes watching my every movement.

Taking a deep breath, I plunged my aching head under the icy waterfall and let the liquid wash the blood and mud out of my hair. The water pounded into my skull, pressing against my closed eyes, trickling into my mouth, and spraying in my ears. Pushing the deadening pain out of my mind, I tried to relax. I let the blades hang loose at my sides and focused on enjoying the freezing water that was stealing away the burning pain.

_Blue-white lightning crackled around the black-cloaked Muerto before it sizzled across the floor, throwing bits of mud in every direction. It slammed into me, frying my feet and sending my flying._

The memory made me wince as I shook the water out of my eyes. I pulled my foot up to examine the damage for the first time, hissing at the angry red blisters. Ignoring the guards – who were quietly whispering to themselves – I pressed a cool finger against one of the larger blisters. "Ow, ow, ow, ow!"

A guard roughly grabbed my arm and yanked me out of the shower. "Move it," he growled. Turning my gaze on him, I narrowed my eyes slightly, annoyed at the interruption. Surprisingly he took a small step backwards, blinking, his hand traveling to the small device attached to his belt. "Come on," he snapped, but his voice seemed to tremble slightly.

_Muerto exploded, pieces of the powerful ghost spraying in every direction. A nameless, scared ghost cowered away from shining blades – but to no avail. Panther-like Doric sliced in two, Slasher's demented head falling from his shoulders, and poor Crusher's hands directing his final movements. Each of them dead. Each of them killed by my fingers._

I tipped my head to the side, studying the guard for a moment before raising one arm to study the blade now eternally attached to my pale, glowing skin. In the silvery shimmer of the ectoluminum, I could see the reflection of the weak guard, his widening eyes glowing brightly in the dim lights of the showers.

_Just two seconds, that's all I would need. A twist on my heel, the blade could flash out and remove his head from his feeble body in one easy movement. While the ghost's blood splattered on the floor, a half-spin would get me in line to take out the others. Two seconds – and all seven of them would be gone, their chilly ectoplasm staining the floor a brilliant, electric green. They wouldn't stand a chance._

The smallest of grins flickered onto my face despite the aching of my body. I clenched my fingers, watching the lean muscles in my arms flex. _It would be so easy, and then I'd be free…_

_But why stop there? We could destroy Walker… make him pay for everything he's done to us. We could rule, you know. Make the Ghost Zone ours – get rid of the Pits for good._

I blinked at the thought, my stomach turning over. "It'd be so easy," I whispered. My eyes drifted up to gaze into the terrified eyes of the guard that was fingering the device that would trigger the odd collar around my neck. "Just two seconds…"

_But then who would I be? _I hesitated, my fingers brushing softly against the freezing metal of the blades. _A murderer in truth?_

_We'd be free. Isn't it worth it to be free?_

"Is it?" Shaking my head, I lowered my arms. "Not today it's not. I'm not a murderer."

But it was too late. The frightened guard had already grabbed the small box off his belt and was rapidly pressing the button, backing away from me. The leather-skin collar around my neck exploded to life. Electricity zapped and zinged around me, tossing all my thoughts out of my head. Gritting my teeth, I refused to scream even as I collapsed to the ground on my knees, my feet shrieking in pain as they touched the floor. It was a small eternity before the fizzling pain faded.

"That'll teach him," the guard said, his voice still trembling through the false bravado.

I sat as still as possible while ignoring the agony of my feet; head bowed, arms relaxed, not wanting to let the guard see the small smile that had flickered across my face at his words. _As if that would have stopped me if I wanted to escape. You would all be dead and scattered across the Ghost Zone before you could push that thrice-cursed button again. _Hesitating, my smile vanished. _Where did that thought come from? I don't even know what thrice means…_

Drifting back up into the air, I let myself slide intangible for a moment. The icy water sluiced off of me as my gaze settled on the ghost still fingering his shock box. He blinked back at me, fear evident in his carbon-copy eyes. Fingers moved uncertainly over the button as he waited for me to attack, clearly confused by the odd expression on my face.

_Not today,_ I thought, closing my eyes and pushing the pain away enough for me to get back to my room. _I am not a murderer. I am not going to kill the guards._

As they escorted me back to my cell, each of them eyeing me carefully, shock boxes out and ready to be used in an instant, the thoughts still swirled around in my head. A tiny corner of my mind refused to shut up. It delighted in reveling in the idea of destroying the guards and going after Walker. Plan after plan was shoved into my mind, each one more bloody and devastating than the last.

And I could do nothing but drift along and listen.

* * *

I've got a new ghost light. Big surprise.

Human again – not that it really matters, dear reader – with my throbbing feet propped up on the edge of the cot; I had my arms behind my head, watching the lights dance around. Strangely, the lights seemed to be bobbing in time to the agony piercing my brain.

Three green lights and a blue light. The blue light was tiny next to the others, twirling and dashing quickly from one edge of the room to the other like a small child playing with its family. The green lights were slightly slower, but were still swirling like they were attached to some invisible fan.

The voice was still chiming away incessantly in my head. I was disgusted to find myself agreeing with some of the slimy, oily thoughts. _It'd be so easy,_ the voice whispered soothingly, _take out Walker and be free. Surely it can't be evil to destroy one who hurts so many._ _Be a hero. All the ghosts would be free of Walker's rule and the Pits would be shut down._

"A hero drenched in blood," I whispered, stretching a little. My whole body was aching again – tight and stretchy on my body and my stomach was ached, long past wanting to be fed and to the point of not wanting to eat anymore.

_The free world was created by the ending of lives. Sometimes killing is necessary._

"Sometimes…"

_Walker can pay for what he has done to all the innocent ghosts and humans. It's justice._

"Justice…" I shook my head. "What kind of justice would it be? I'd just be another Walker."

I pushed the thoughts out back into the corner of my mind, ignoring them. I wasn't going to turn into the creature I hated. I wasn't going to kill…

Blinking, my forehead creased in confusion. "But I _want_ to kill Walker," I rasped, a bit of fear clawing at my stomach. "What would that make me? Another Walker?"

_A hero_, the bit of my mind inserted unhelpfully.

I shivered, closing my eyes. At first, I had hated fighting and killing. Then I had started to enjoy the fighting – but killing had still been wrong. Now… now… I was looking forward to killing. I wanted to destroy Walker. I wanted to make him pay for everything he had done to me and everybody else.

I wanted revenge.

The ghost lights danced wildly around my room as my head spun, unanswerable questions whirling in my brain. Should I kill Walker? Would that make me evil?

One of my teachers once said that no actions were completely evil or completely good. Everything was just various shades of grey. The characters in the story we were reading at the time were being tested to see how far they would go into 'the dark side.'

I wondered what color grey killing Walker would be.

I was still contemplating that some time later when I finally fell asleep, my dreams strangely blank and empty.

* * *

Suddenly I was awake, my eyes still shut, forcing myself to keep my breathing regular. I'd had a lot of practice over the past year of faking sleeping – and Jazz says I'm pretty good at it. I didn't want anyone to know I was awake until I knew what was there.

_Click_. The thick cell door was pushed open, frigid air gushing into the room for a moment before the door was carefully and quietly shut. Whoever it was obviously didn't know I was awake and wasn't trying to wake me up.

Breathe in, breathe out. I had to keep reminding myself to breathe normally despite the chill presence that was leaning over me. There was a metallic sound as something was dropped onto the floor.

Whoever was in my room pulled the blanket up around my shoulders. I clenched my fingers into tight fists, trying my best to keep my arms and shoulders from tensing when chill fingers brushed against my skin. Don't hold your breath - breathe in, breathe out.

A hand touched my forehead for a moment, feeling the heat radiating from my aching skin. I couldn't help the slight flinch at the cold fingers, but whoever it was didn't seem to notice. There was a slithering, light clacking sound for a moment from the ground by my bed, then the room when silent.

I stayed perfectly still for a few moments more, breathing, listening, straining to remain relaxed. Finally I couldn't handle it any more and one of my eyes cracked open.

The room was empty.

Slowly, cautiously, I rolled over, peaking under the cot. Nothing.

There was _nothing_ in the room besides me.

Sitting up and blinking away a second of dizzy vertigo, I stared around me in amazed confusion. There was no place for anyone to have gone, and the door hadn't opened and closed again – I would have heard it.

But yet, here I was. Alone.

I sank back down, my head dropping back onto the thin pillow, my eyes drifting closed again. It was too much to think about. I was tired, my stomach was churning, and my whole body ached. _I wish I was home right now._

My mind was off on a tangent I couldn't control. A memory was playing in my head of the last time I had felt this horrible. Mom had trundled me off to bed, setting up the DVD player in my room and letting me watch movies all day. Then she had made me chicken soup and crackers, bringing it up on a tray for me to eat in bed.

The memory was soothing, a feeling of comfort surrounding me even in this dismal little room. But when the mental image of my mother turned to me, my eyes jerked open in surprised horror – her face was blurry and unclear, her reassuring voice distant and vague. "Mom?" I murmured, anxiously trying to picture her in my head. Red-orange hair, intelligent eyes… but it wouldn't come.

One hand worked its way under my pillow, pulling out the creased and blood-splattered picture of my family. I studied their faces for a long moment. "I won't forget you," I promised softly, memorizing their familiar features.

"How long have I been in here to be forgetting what you look like? Weeks? Months?" I shook my head, letting my arm drop down onto my chest, the edge of the picture pressing into my palm. "I hate the fact that the Ghost Zone doesn't have time. I can't tell how long it's been."

Unable to keep my eyes open for a moment longer, I let my mind drift into the oblivion of feverish dreams. "I want to go home," I whispered sadly. "I just want to go home."

* * *

The next thing I knew a hard boot to my stomach jerked me awake. I curled up, arms clasped around my stomach, trying my best not to throw anything up. We don't get fed enough to throw the food back up. "Where is it, Punk?" a voice growled in my ear before I even had a chance to open my eyes.

I barely had a thought for Walker. My head was throbbing and every cell in my body seemed to be screaming in agony. "Where is what?" I managed to wheeze, trying to sit up. The room spun around my as I changed positions and my stomach lurched alarmingly. I swallowed hard and tried to focus my aching eyes on the warden.

"Talk!" he snarled, his raisin eyes glaring at me. "How did you get out of your cell to steal it?" He grabbed me roughly by the front of my brown-grey shirt and yanked me into the air. After shaking me roughly a few times, he settled on staring me down while keeping my toes from touching the ground.

My brain refused to process what he had just said. Despite the fact that the 'Terror of the Pits' was holding me up, ready to kill me, my head just couldn't seem to care. All I could think about what that I was sick and tired and hurt and starving. I blinked blearily at him, sluggishly trying to figure out what to say. "What?"

He screamed and threw me across the cell. Yelping when my aching body slammed hard against the rocky wall and tumbled to the ground, I kept my eyes closed, focusing on keeping what little I had eaten in my stomach. My brain couldn't keep up with this. It was stuck in 'confused' mode.

When the door slammed roughly shut, I glanced wearily around the room. Walker was gone. Crazy, insane, and apparently extremely ticked off – but he was gone.

Something was poking my mind, trying to get me to think. _There was something wrong about that meeting…_ But every time I tried to figure it out, my brain crashed and I was left, sitting on the floor, dizzily leaning back and forth, shaking my head in confusion. _If only I could think, I'd figure it out._

Satisfied with the thought that I'd get it later, I set the dilemma aside and put one foot underneath me to get up and go back to bed. Burning lightning bolts of pain shot up my leg and left me gasping for breath on the floor. "Okay," I panted, gazing down at my blister-covered feet. "Not a good plan." I held perfectly still for a few minutes, my pain-riddled mind trying to figure out a better course of action.

It took awhile, but one came to me: crawling. Moving on my hands and knees, careful to keep my feet from touching the floor, I scooted slowly across the room. Every few feet I had to stop and readjust my balance. Half-way to the safety of my cot, I lost the battle with what little bit of food I had eaten and it forced its way up and out. Retching at the smell and the sight of the thin, slightly-glowing liquid, I skirted the mess and made it to my bed.

Collapsing on the thin blankets, my eyes flickered closed and my brain promptly shut off. Not even the rough pain of my feet or the throbbing ache of my body could keep me awake for one second longer.

* * *

"Ghost."

The warm hand roughly shaking my shoulder hurled me to the land of the awake more than the clipped word. I opened my eyes, trying to place the voice. Long black hair, emerald eyes, impossibly beautiful features set into a disagreeable expression greeted me. Doctor what's-her-name. I was, quite frankly, too tired and sick to try and remember she was called. Besides, if I was remembering right, she didn't overly like me anyways.

She jabbed a thermometer into my mouth without a further word, her icy eyes studying me. "Don't spit that out if you know what's good for you," she snapped.

She didn't wait for me to respond. Instead, she helped me to sit up and grabbed my face firmly in her strong, lean fingers, tipping my head this was and that, studying my eyes. "Bloodshot and dilated," she whispered, her forehead wrinkling in thought. She let go of my face and snatched up one of my hands, carefully looking at my fingernails. "Green cuticles…"

I dizzily shook my head, running my tongue over the cold glass thermometer in my mouth. While she muttered and moved around, I was debating whether or not I was going to throw up on her. It wasn't really my decision, but the roiling in my stomach and the ache of my head were preventing me from thinking about much else.

Suddenly, I noticed that the doctor was no longer right next to me staring down at my hands. Instead she was across the room, digging through her toolkit. She turned around, two things in her hands. I blinked… and she was back at my side, picking my hand back up and turning it palm-up. For a moment, my confused and dizzy head tried to figure out when humans learned to teleport.

Watching with growing uncertainty, my fingers trembled as the doctor lifted a small knife and held it poised over my hand. I opened my mouth to say something, but her hands moved quickly, the knife glinting silvery in the light from the dancing ghost lights, and she pricked my thumb. I flinched, but she held my hand firmly in hers. She snatched up a small strip of grey paper from beside her hand and held it over the tiny wound for a moment, catching a drop of my blood. When the paper turned a sickly green color, her forehead furrowed once more and her mouth pinched together.

"How is that possible…" she trailed off, turning away from me to search through her clipboard of papers. Muttering under her breath, she flipped from one page to the next. The quiet lull made my bleary, dry eyes drift closed.

"Idiots!" she snapped suddenly, making me jump and snap my eyes back open. "He never got immunized!"

"He's part ghost," one guard answered with a deep, gravelly voice, "we weren't sure he needed the shots."

"Apparently he did. You never thought to ask someone who might now." She was snarling, enraged. "His human side has managed to contract spectral influenza. Do you know how fast that spreads?" She didn't bother to wait for an answer. Instead, she threw her clipboard through the air at the errant guard like a lop-sided Frisbee and continued with her rant. "Fast! I bet half this wing is infected by now."

The guard snatched the flying clipboard out of the air before it could hit and raised one eyebrow. "That's your job, not mine."

"Idiots," she seethed. Grabbing the thermometer out of my mouth, she didn't ever bother to read it before tossing it into her toolkit and turning back to me. "There's no cure or medicine for spectral influenza," she said sourly, her eyes drifting over me. "If you don't get over it on your own by the next time you fight, you're as good as dead."

I stared at her, my brain trying to work. It really was. "Huh?"

"Read my lips, Ghost-Boy, you won't survive your next fight."

The room suddenly lurched sideways. Although I was woozy and nauseous, my brain sent a fleeting signal to my mouth. "Can you at least do something about my feet?" She blinked at me, surprised at my question. Truthfully, I was surprised at my question as well.

"Feet?" She yanked the blanket off of my feet and hissed at the sight. Kneeling down, she prodded the blisters. Some were angry and red, some of them white with puss. "Incompetent ghosts," she complained, "these could have gotten infected! He might have lost his feet, and then were would we be? It wouldn't be _my_ job to tell Walker his latest pet had died."

A painful few minutes later, she rubbed some calming gunk onto my feet and wrapped them tightly. I sighed as the numbing salve stole the pain away, sleepy dizziness crashing in its place.

Still grumbling under her breath about the ghosts she was forced to work with, she packed her stuff into her bag and looked up at me. Tilting her head to the side, studying my half-asleep expression, she sent me a very small smile. "Get some sleep, that's all I can do about the spectral flu. If you've got a full-blown case, you'll probably start hallucinating before you get any better. Your feet will just have to fix themselves, if you live long enough."

I think I may have nodded, stifling a yawn. Between blinks, she vanished. I gazed around the room in sleepy surprise before my mind decided that figuring out how she'd vanished so fast was too much work.

Lying back down on the cot, her words slipped through my feverish mind.

_…good as dead…_

_…won't survive…_

_…if you live…_

But, somehow, I couldn't bring myself to care.

* * *

When I opened my eyes, my whole body hurt. Everything ached and my head felt like it was going to explode. I groaned, pushing myself up off the cot and collapsing against the wall. My arms shook with even that little bit of effort. Blinking tears out of my dry eyes, I glanced around the room. Something was…

"Mom?"

Her blue Hazmat hood was pushed back, her goggles perched on her head. She was carefully screwing some loose bits onto her latest gadget, serenely ignoring the fact that she was sitting on a kitchen chair in a ghost cell.

"Mom?" My voice was scratchy and barely audible, but she didn't even glance up at me. She just continued to hum softly under her breath. I pushed away from the wall, sitting up on my own, dizziness making my head spin. "Where did you come from?"

Instead of answering, she held up her completed ghost invention and smiled. "I'm done!" she cheered, jumping to her feet.

Jazz's voice echoed through the room. "Mom?" I twisted my head, swallowing a bout of nausea at the quick movement. My sister was leaning against the wall opposite of cell, her arms crossed, an annoyed scowl on her face. "Are we going to try and find Danny now?"

"Find me? I'm right here." I weakly waved my hand in her direction, but she didn't seem to see me.

"Why would we need to find him?" Mom was still gazing at her invention with a smile on her face. "He can take care of himself, he's a ghost."

My jaw dropped. "What?" I rasped. I struggled to get their attention, but only ended up falling off the cot. Wincing when my newly bandaged feet hit the ground, I moaned and pushed myself up to my hands and knees… but the cell was empty.

"What?" I whispered, staring at the place where my mother had been sitting. "Where…"

"Danny?" Sam's voice brought me to a dead stop. "What are you doing on the floor?"

I twisted my head, glancing behind me at the cot I had just fallen off of. My Gothic best friend was sitting cross-legged on the thin blankets, hands limp on her knees, gazing down at me with a skeptical eyebrow raised. Blinking in confusion, my mouth worked soundlessly as I tried to figure out what I was trying to say. "Sam?"

"Some hero you are," she said sourly, "just deciding to kill me like that. I always thought you were different from the other ghosts."

"I didn't kill you!"

"Yes, you did," Tucker chimed in. The room whirled dangerously when I whipped my head in the direction of his voice. He was standing by the door, gazing down at his broken PDA sadly. Pushing his charred beret farther back on his forehead, he sent me a glare.

"But… but… but Sam's scrunchie was the wrong color!" Scooting backwards as far as I could, my back pressed into the sharp edge of the cot.

"So?" Sam asked from right beside my ear, "I have more than one scrunchie, idiot. Even I'm not weird enough for them all to be the _same_ color."

"You're not dead," I whispered, shaking my head. "You're not dead… I didn't kill you."

"If you really want to think so," Tucker muttered darkly, tossing his PDA at me. It hit the ground and skittered to a stop inches from my bandaged feet, "but you broke my tech." He shook his head in dismay. "And you killed me too."

"Murderer," Sam hissed.

"NO!" I closed my eyes, continuing to shake my head in denial. "No, no, no, no, no."

Sam snorted. "You kill all the time, what makes it so hard to believe you didn't kill us?"

"I didn't," I pressed, shakily getting to my knees and crawling a bit towards Tucker.

"Stay away from me," he snarled.

After staring at him in disbelief for a moment, I glanced over my shoulder. Sam was gone from my cot. "Sam?" I turned back to talk to Tucker, but he was gone too.

Once again, I was alone in my cell.

"What?" I'm not sure I actually was talking by this point. More like my mouth was moving on its own as my brain struggled to catch on. Turning around in a complete circle a few times, I examined every inch of my cell. Nobody. No Tucker, no Sam, no Mom, no Jazz… "What's going on?"

I crawled back onto my bed and curled up into a ball, tucking one arm under my head, my headache beginning to grow again. Gazing out into the empty room, I couldn't get myself to close my eyes and go back to sleep. Every time my eyes drifted closed, they snapped back open to check the room to make sure I was still alone.

"Danny?" Dad's voice drifted through the air. My father was nowhere to be seen – I had the entire cell in my sights – but his voice was there nonetheless.

Suddenly, I got it. I _knew _what was going on. The doctor's words seemed to float into my head: _You'll probably start hallucinating before you get better_. Letting my eyes drift closed, I sighed heavily. "Wonderful."

"Danny?" Dad called again. I refused to answer; did not open my eyes. I just rolled over to face the wall and curled up into a tighter ball.

"Danny." His voice sounded like it was coming from right behind me. I could very easily imagine him reaching down and putting a comforting hand on my shoulder… any second… any second…

_He's not there,_ I reminded myself, putting my hands over my ears and trying to ignore him.

"Daniel Fenton, look at me!"

Taking a page out of my imaginary mother's book, I started humming an old lullaby, hands pressed painfully against the sides of my head, eyes clenched shut, tears starting to leak out of my eyes. _Leave me alone…_

There was a blessed few minutes of silence. I began to relax, my fingers loosening their death grips on my head. My mind began to drift… and I was almost asleep when my mother's voice once again danced in my ears. "Danny?"

If I had enough energy, I would have screamed. Instead, it just came out as a whimper.

This was going to be a long night. Well, if it _was_ night anyway.

* * *

A cold spot pressing against my cheek startled my eyes open once again. Pushing myself up on an elbow, my gaze shot around the room, half-expecting to see a hallucination of my family or friends in the flickering ghost lights. Surprised to see none, I looked down… into the glowing sapphire eyes of the rat.

Next to the black and blue rat was a bowl full of what looked like chicken noodle soup. It wasn't even glowing like everything else I had eaten over the past who-knows-how-many days. This was human food. My stomach twisted and churned, gurgling as the sickeningly wonderful smell assaulted my nose. I was starving, but the last thing my stomach wanted was food.

Groaning, I rolled over, tucking my arm back under my head and closing my eyes. I didn't even want to think about it… but the thoughts tickled my brain anyways. _How had a bowl full of soup and a rat gotten onto my bed?_

There was one very simple answer. I was hallucinating. Again.

"Hybrid" a voice asked softly. It was a light tenor was that odd overlay of spectral echoing resonance. "You need to eat something."

Opening my eyes, I rolled onto my back and looked around the room with eyes that would barely open. There was nothing in the room but me, the rat, and the bowl of soup. Losing the battle with my hallucinations, I answered. "What?" I winced at the sound of my voice. It was barely there and my throat hurt like nothing else when I spoke.

"This will help."

I raised an eyebrow, my eyes fixed on the rat. I could have sworn his mouth moved. This was a stellar hallucination. "Chicken soup?" Even in my sickened delirium and almost voiceless mode, sarcasm managed to work its way into my voice.

"It's an ancient recipe. Chicken soup has always been a cure-all for all sorts of paranormal diseases. Where do you think humans got…"

I stopped listening, letting my eyes drift closed again as the rat rambled on for a few more moments. It wasn't until a set of sharp claws pressed painfully into my face that I opened my eyes again to study the rodent. "Eat, hybrid," he commanded.

"I have a name you know," I grumbled, trying my best to ignore this figment of my imagination. There was no way I was going to pretend I was eating hallucinated chicken soup from a talking rat. "If I _have_ to be delirious, why can't it be something that makes some sort of sense?"

"Eat," he chuckled.

"You're not going to go away, are you?"

"No. Now eat before I force-feed you. You have to get better… you dying in the next fight is not part of my plan!" The rat glared at me, his sapphire eyes flaring with energy.

I didn't even try to wrap my brain around the idea of _how_ a hallucinated rat could force-feed me chicken soup. To be completely honest, I didn't even question the idea. My head hurt too much for me to care. All I did was push myself shakily into a sitting position, my bandaged feet dangling off the edge of the cot, and grab the bowl.

Surprisingly, it was warm against my hands. Trembling fingers latched onto the spoon and scooped some of the almost hot liquid into my mouth. For imaginary soup, it tasted really good.

"Better," the rat said, wrapping its tail around its feet and seeming to smile at me. "Eat the whole bowl, please. It took a lot of work to get it here."

"You brought the soup?" My voice was getting a bit louder, a bit less raspy.

"Yes. Do you see anybody else?"

Silence fell between us. Glancing from the steaming soup to the rat and back, I tried to figure out something to say. What _do_ you say to an imaginary, talking rat? I've been through a lot and seen more weird situations that I can count… but this was just bizarre. Even for me.

Nobody said anything as the soup slowly vanished out of the bowl. It left a warm glow in my stomach, silencing the endless grumbling and settling my dizziness down a little. "Thanks," I said after I drained the last of the soup. So what if I was talking to a delusion? It's better than talking to myself.

"You're more than welcome," he said grandly, puffing up a little. "It's the least I can do."

I wrinkled my nose, thinking about that. _You're more than welcome…_ I've heard that before. "You saved my picture!" I gasped. "I remember you saying that same thing!"

The rat nodded. "True, I did. My name is Läkadeshíjai – but my friends call me L'Jai."

"LJ?"

He scowled at me. "Why does everybody always slaughter my name nowadays? It's not a couple of letters, it's a title. L'Jai. I am a respected _Guardian, _not the stupid alphabet. The subtle nuances…"

I stopped listening as he ranted on about his nonexistent name. This would have been funnier if I hadn't been so tired. Yawning, I noticed that the rat had stumbled to a stop.

"You're tired," he said, "go back to sleep. Now that you've got some soup in you, you'll get better. You need to keep winning your fights."

Dropping back down onto my cot and carefully propping my aching feet up on the edge, I mumbled sleepily, "I don't want to fight." I was too tired to care what I was saying.

"True, but you have to. For the sake of a million souls, you have to."

Drifting back to sleep, I let a small smile cross my face. Hopefully, when I woke up I'd be better. No more hallucinations. No more talking rats.

There is only so much a human-ghost hybrid superhero can take, after all.

* * *

This was becoming an awful dance. For the sixth time, I was being jerked out of my sleep. Dry eyes flickered open, hoping against hope that I wouldn't be looking into the eyes of my nonexistent family. I _really_ wasn't in the mood to deal with imaginary parents.

On the positive side, it wasn't my parents that woke me up this time.

It was worse.

One hung-out-to-dry warden was standing over me, prodding me with a walking stick. "Ghost-boy," he snapped, "get up."

I sat up, blinking at him, barely registering the fact that I wasn't nearly as dizzy as I had been. I stared into his raisin eyes, trying to decide if this was another hallucination or if he was real. Walker stabbed my shoulder with his stick one more time and my nose caught a whiff of his rotten-spicy smell. Just beyond him I could see that all the ghost lights were huddled in the corners of the cell, almost holding still. Oh yes, he was real.

"What do you want?" I asked, being careful to keep my voice calm. His knife did not need to be embedded in my flesh again. My arm had finally healed from our last encounter. Pressing my back against the wall to help me stay upright, I kept my eyes on him.

"You have won seven fights." He paused, glaring at me. "Don't you pay _any_ attention? After seven fights, your reward is a wish. I'm here to make sure your wish doesn't break the rules."

"A wish?" I whispered as Walker entered into a rant about rule breakers. _What would I do with…_

_A wish._

My gaze drifted slowly over to the pillow where the picture of my family was hidden.

_I could do anything…_

"Desiree!" Walker shouted, not taking his eyes off of me. "Get in here."

The genie-ghost appeared in the doorway, brushing her black hair out of her eyes. "No man commands me," she muttered darkly, "not even you, Walker." She crossed her arms, refusing to enter the cell. Her red eyes flickered around the cell, settling on me for just a moment before dancing away. Fingers drummed anxiously against her arms as her shoulders hunched slightly.

"A wish," Walker snarled, ignoring the ghost, "what do you want?"

_I want to talk to my family_.

I tried to stand up, but my blistered feet screamed when I put weight on them. My aching legs gave way underneath me and I collapsed back down onto the bed. A smile flickered across my face as I stared at Desiree.

_My family. I just want to talk to them._

My mouth wouldn't start working. I could talk to my family! It was like a dream, my throat choking up. I licked my lips, ready to say what I wanted. Ready to talk to my family. Ready to…

"Meals are pretty common wishes." She had tipped her head to the side, studying me. "What's your favorite food? Pictures, soft beds, chairs, televisions… those things get wished for pretty often. A couple of ghosts have it pretty cozy here." Her gaze flickered around the cell again, a shudder visibly shaking her before her eyes were back on me.

"I know what I want to wish for," I whispered. "But you'll just take it and twist it like you always do." My heart dropped at this realization and I fought to keep my expression from crumbling. There was no way she'd grant a wish for me to talk to my family. What was I thinking? "Poisoned food? A bed I can't sleep in?"

Desiree's eyes softened a bit. She smiled at me, nodding in agreement, letting her tense posture relax just a touch. "I don't twist these wishes, Phantom." Her voice was gentle, her words slow and carefully chosen. "I don't agree with the Pits. Nobody should be treated this way."

"That's none of your business," Walker growled, "you're just here to grant his wish."

She bowed her head, black hair falling into her eyes. "I am with Skulker on this one. The Pits need to be stopped – not even men should be forced to fight like this."

Walker back-handed the wishing ghost. She collapsed against the far wall of the hallway, one hand pressing against her face. "No man can touch me!" she snarled as she got to her feet, her free hand clenched into a fist. Although she was trembling with fury, she did nothing but glare. Her eyes snaked back to mine. "What is your wish?"

I opened my mouth. _I want to talk to my family_.

I was willing to risk the heartbreak if she twisted it. I needed to talk to my family. That's what I wanted more than anything – I wanted to know if they were alright. I needed to know.

Somewhere between my brain and my mouth, the words got garbled. The first time I tried to talk, all that came out was gibberish. "Wantaloomyily."

Blinking in confusion, I tried again. _I want…_

"I want to be better."

_What? _That's not what I was trying to say.

"What do you mean?" Desiree asked, red sparkles of energy dancing around her hand as she held it out towards me.

_One phone call. I want to talk to my family. Please!_

No matter what I was trying to get my mouth to say, it moved on its own, forming its own words. "My feet and my spectral flu. I wish to be better."

_No… stop!_

"So you have wished it," she intoned seriously, streamers of red ectoenergy swirling around her. "So shall it be."

_No! I didn't wish it! I want to talk to my family! STOP!_

The powerful ghost waved her hand, bangles jangling, and energy raced through the doorway and wrapped around me. My feet tingled as it enveloped me; then my entire body began shivering and trembling. I closed my eyes against the bright light, fighting the wish. _I don't want this, I don't want this…take it back…_

The glow died away and I opened my eyes, staring at the receding back of Walker's long coat in dismay. When he slammed the door shut, cutting me off from Desiree and my only chance of finding out about my family, I collapsed down onto the cot, my mouth working wordlessly in disbelief at what had just happened.

I stared up at the ghost lights that were just beginning to dance around the ceiling again. _What?_ "What just happened?" I asked the empty cell. Not too surprisingly, I didn't get an answer.

Feeling better than ever and completely awake, I just lay there, my fingers laced behind my head, my painless feet propped up on the end of the cot, trying desperately to work out what was going on. "Traitor," I whispered, thinking about what my mouth had done. "My own body is turning against me."

I shook my head. "And now I'm talking to myself." Chuckling slightly, I couldn't help the grin that was sliding across my face. "I'm delusional, talking to myself, and I'm losing control of my body. I _am_ going crazy." The ghost lights swirled and bobbed on the ceiling, seeming to agree with me. "I suppose I deserve it though, being here."

"You've got to wonder though," I murmured to the ghost lights as I prepared to spend the rest of my day in boredom, "why was Walker carrying around a stick? Doesn't he have a knife to poke things with?"

* * *

The guards tossed me into Former's room, slamming the door loudly behind them. I rubbed my wrists, scowling at the closed door. Letting freezing, tingling energy swirl through me with a flicker of silvery light, I turned to face the young man sitting behind his book, studiously ignoring me.

"Former," I said sourly, crossed my arms – carefully of the blades that had appeared – and waited.

He flinched at his name, but just kept writing.

"Why are you ignoring me?"

Two brown eyes flickered up to meet mine. I crossed my legs, hovering mid-air, waiting. "I'm not ignoring you," he said slowly.

"You're not?" I raised an eyebrow

"No." He shook his head, "I… just wasn't sure you wanted to talk to me."

"Why wouldn't I want to talk to you?" I tipped my head to the side, confused. "It's not like I have a lot of other people to talk to."

Former smiled slightly. "It's just…" he hesitated, turning back to his book for a moment to make a few notes, "it's just that people tend to not want to have anything to do with me when they find out Walker adopted me."

"That sounds kind of mean."

"People can be mean, whether they are alive or dead." Former shrugged, pushing away from his desk and looking at me a bit closer. "Or half-dead, I guess."

I grinned at him.

"They're a bit behind in their fights – there a new ghost that's making some interesting battles, I heard – so we've got some time to kill." He stretched his arms over his head, groaning as his back cracked.

"Time to kill," I murmured back, the smile vanishing. _Kill… but kill who? Walker?_

Former winced, "Sorry."

"If you had a chance, would you kill Walker?" I asked suddenly, the corner of my mind beginning to whisper plans of death and destruction again.

He looked at me, his brown eyes dull. "No," he whispered, "I wouldn't."

"Why not?" I landed on the ground, walking over to him, pushing the thoughts of blowing the doors to splinters out of my head. "Come to think of it, why doesn't anybody fight him? How come they all just sit there? Why does Walker get away with this? He's killing _everybody_ – ghosts and humans – and… nobody cares!"

"People care," he said softly, "even ghosts care." Former was silent for a moment, sadly shaking his head. "Most of the people and ghosts that work here don't _want_ to be here."

"But you don't fight him! You just sit here and do whatever he asks!"

"What do you want us to do?" Caramel eyes hardened as he stared at me, anger rising in his voice. "Have _you_ tried to fight him?"

My mouth moved, but no words got out for a minute. "I just got here!"

Former pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment, taking a few deep breaths. When he spoke again, his voice was softer and calm. "I think we need to start at the beginning. Do you know where we are?"

"The Pits," I said slowly.

"Yes, but do you know where the Pits _are_?"

I looked at him blankly. "The Ghost Zone?"

He sighed, shaking his head. "That's what I thought. You don't understand." Biting his lip, he looked around his room for a moment, then glanced back at me. "Let me tell you story. Maybe that will help." He settled back into the chair, fingering the huge book he had been writing in. "We've got time before your fight."

"Okay." I dropped into a nearby chair, absently brushing a few strands of hair out of my eyes.

"You know how there is a ghost zone and a human world, and that they are separated by a barrier? At times, the barrier wears down and thins, creating natural ghost portals. Most of these portals are relatively small and short lived – usually lasting only a few hours before vanishing." He looked at me, raising an eyebrow.

I nodded. That's easy stuff I already knew. _But what does this have to do with Walker?_

"But, thousands of years ago, there was a _huge_ thinning of the barrier. Miles of land became blurred between the human world and the Ghost Zone. The 'portal' lasted for so many years that an entire city was built in that part-human, part-ghost land. It was a human city… and a ghost city." A grin flashed across his face. "A hybrid city."

"An entire city?"

Former gestured with his hands. "This whole place that we call the Pits were originally part of that portal city. They were built for the strongest of fighters – both ghost and human – to test their abilities. But, after hundreds of years of coexisting, the portal suddenly closed. The entire city vanished without a trace."

"What happened to it?" I tapped my fingers against the armrest of the chair, trying to think this one through. I wasn't even sure that was really possible. A portal big enough to build a city in?

"Nobody knows. No one knows what happened to the city, its inhabitants, or anything. All we know is that about hundred years ago, a new set of doors appeared in the Ghost Zone. Behind the doors… was the Pits."

"So the entire city vanished, and became… a ghost lair?"

"Kind of. But it's just the Pits that are here. Where the rest of the city vanished to is anybody's guess."

I wrinkled my forehead. "So how does that answer my question? How can Walker get away with this?"

Former smiled. "I'm getting to it. Hold your horses. Have you ever seen a ghost lair?"

"Not for long."

"Ghost lairs adapt themselves to their masters. The lairs become what the ghost _wants_ and _assumes_ the lair would be. It's their own version of the afterlife… sort of their personal heaven."

"I don't understand…"

He sighed, shaking his head. "Think about it for a moment. A musician dies and becomes a ghost. He picks a lair in the ghost zone and goes in. The lair is just… nothingness at that point. As the ghost lives in the lair, it begins to change itself to become what the ghost would want. For a musician, the lair might become a soundstage, or a concert hall, or something."

"I guess that makes sense."

"But it's more than just visual things. The ghosts also have control over the lair's _properties_. If a ghost thinks that you shouldn't be able to fly in their lair, the place makes that thought a reality. You wouldn't be able to fly there. If a ghost thought it should be more powerful inside its lair, then it would be." He smiled for a second, waiting for me to reply.

"So?"

"So, the Pits acts like a lair. The master of the lair controls all sorts of things. They control the 'rules' of the area. And every person that exists inside the lair must follow the rules."

I was silent for a moment as that sunk in. "Who owns this one?"

" Walker. The story goes that he found the key to this lair when the door first appeared in the Ghost Zone. Ever since then, the basic rules of the Pits have changed to follow what Walker wants them to be."

_This is not good. _"And…"

"And, so I think anyway, one of the rules he has is that other people won't fight him. So it's not so much that we don't _want_ to fight, but more that we _can't_." He was silent, thinking. "It's hard to explain, but think about it this way: in the human world, gravity pulls you down – that's a really well established fact."

I nodded.

"The Pits have become Walker's second lair, so his rules are like gravity. We can't fight Walker's desire for us to be complacent any more than a human could fight gravity."

_They're all being controlled!_ I gasped in realization, my eyes widening.

"The guards don't think twice about hauling humans and ghosts off to their deaths because that's what _Walker_ wants. Most of the employees here don't care about the prisoners and what's happening because _Walker_ doesn't want them to. He's not a god, not really, but what he wants holds sway. It's kind of like subliminal advertising. He _wants_ you to think this is the right thing to do and the entire lair is working to get you to believe what he _wants_."

I was staring at him, my mouth dropping open in horror. _They can't fight, they can't even realize that they should…_

"You're rather special," Former continued, a sad smile on his face, "one in a thousand. You can argue and fight him. You can think about killing him. Think about it – you're fighting the entire _lair_ to think those thoughts. You must be incredibly powerful."

"Can anybody else?" I asked softly.

"A few," his voice was soft, "but not many. Most of them won't fight Walker anyway. He's got leverage over people like u… you. That's why he's threatening your family. He's trying to keep you in line."

Silence fell between us as I took all that in. " Walker gets away with all this because Walker wants to. Nobody fights him because he doesn't want them to." I couldn't help it; I drew my legs up and curled my arms around them, hugging them tightly to me as the thoughts banged together in my head. "They march off to their deaths, not even thinking about resisting it… because Walker wants them to."

Former nodded slowly.

My eyes narrowed. "_ Walker _is forcing everybody to kill." I got to my feet, clenching my fingers, energy dancing around me. " _Walker_ is to blame for every death in the Pits."

The corner of my mind whispered, and I let it out just a tiny bit, listening to it for a moment. _Walker deserves to die, he's killed countless beings. It'd be a hero's move to save millions. One deranged afterlife in return for the souls of the innocent. Sometimes killing is necessary – it's justice._

"You asked me earlier," Former said quietly, "if I'd kill Walker if I had a chance. You know my answer… but what's yours? Would you?"

I stared at the silver-green blades embedded into my skin. Actions are never wholly good nor evil; they are merely varying shades of darkness and light. What shade of grey would killing Walker be? Did I want to slip that far into the shadows?

To my surprise, I found I no longer cared. To save the lives of others, I would kill Walker. I had to stop this insanity.

A smile played across my face. I looked up into his eyes just as the guards appeared in the doorway to drag me to my next fight. "Yes," I answered. "I would." _And I wouldn't think twice about it._

Deep in my mind, the tiny voice laughed happily.

* * *

I was hauled towards the pit, my mind still reeling from what Former had told me. I glanced over at one of the guards, studying him. "Don't you ever think this is wrong?" I asked him softly.

The guard shot me a weird look, his glowing eyes confused. "I'm just doing my job."

"Yeah," I muttered, turning to the next one. "Don't _you_ think this is wrong?"

"Shut up," the guard hissed, glaring at me. "Just go fight. Stop asking questions."

"I can't even blame you for this," I scowled, still making no attempt to help them get me into the pit. "You're just Walker's little goons."

_Yes, but they aren't fighting him. They are just going along with it. We could take them out on our way to Walker. The Ghost Zone would be a better place without them._

_Shut up_, I hissed at my own mind. _I'm not killing them._

_But we're going to need to get free of them to get to Walker, and they aren't going to hold still and just LET us go. They'll need to be taken care of._

"I'm not killing them," I said, making a few of the ghosts jump and sent me skeptical looks. More than one reached for their little shock boxes.

_Don't we want to kill Walker? Aren't just a few more not-so-innocent lives worth his death?_

I closed my eyes, finally getting my feet underneath me. Stumbling a bit as I caught up to the guards' pace, I shook my head, refusing to answer that bit of my mind, and glanced up. The pit was opening up before me, ready for my fight. The silence of the crowds was pressing, a delicious sticky-sweet feeling brushing against my nerves.

When I stepped out onto the pit sand, I already knew what was waiting for me. The human, still sending out waves of terror, was standing at the starting spot, visibly trembling. The spectral crowds were pressed up against the edge of the pit, drinking in the euphoric feeling of human fear.

_This could be interesting_, that bit of my mind sneered. _What shall we do know? How shall we kill this human?_

"I'm not going to kill him," I whispered softly. The guards, who had escorted me all the way to my starting position, sent me another round of strange looks before shooting off into the sky and letting the shield snap into place.

_You killed the last one without any problems. Remember the little girl?_

I didn't move, I couldn't think. "I'll find a way out killing him. I will."

_Danny?_ Ember's voice touched against my mind. _Are you okay?_

Closing my eyes, I fought against a rising torrent of insanity. Laughter was threatening to bubble out of me. "I've got voices in my head," I chuckled, "a good one and an evil one." I laughed a bit harder. "Only the good one is _Ember_ for some freaking reason." Fighting against the crazy laughter, I bit my lip and looked around me. "I think I may have finally lost it."

I took a few steps towards the young man waiting to fight me. "Gone over the deep end," I whispered. A few more steps. "Gone completely nuts."

_Snap out of it_, Ember chided anxiously.

"No," I muttered darkly, taking another big step forwards. The human tensed, his feet shifting in the bloody sand. "You can't tell me what to do. Neither of you can."

The man blinked at me in confusion, backing up a few paces. "Who are you talking to?" he asked.

"The voices in my head," I answered sourly.

_We should go for the head-slicing option. We like that one_. That oily voice made my skin crawl.

"Stop it!" I hissed. "Stop talking to me."

I was so preoccupied with my own head that I never noticed the young man moving until it was too late. The human's blade glinted in the air, whistling straight towards me. There was no way I could react in time to save myself.

Caught in a moment of pure surprise, everything swirled and went black.

* * *

Suddenly I was aware again, my eyes shut, a distant feeling to my skull. It was almost like I had left it for a time, and now I was back and I needed to get used to it again. Shouting, cheering crowds pressed against my skull. A sharp peppery-metallic smell saturated the air and my knees burned with the feeling of the pit's sandy slurry. Sluggishly, I clenched my fingers into fists, feeling a dreamlike annoyance at the partying mob. _Why are they so happy? I haven't done anything…_

My mind derailed at the slightly sticky, squelching feeling on my fingers. I opened and closed my hands a few times, feeling the warm liquid congealing on my fingers. It was so odd. Unwilling to open my eyes to the harsh lights due to my pounding headache, I brought my fingers up to my face, smelling. Metallic, iron-like, a hint of sulfury-pepper.

_"Danny, no!" _Ember suddenly screamed in my head._ "Don't!"_

Emerald eyes flickered open, almost against my will, gazing down at the crimson fluid that was coating my hand. Absently, I watched the tepid liquid trickle down my arm and drip down onto the ground.

_"Danny?" _Ember's voice was soft, unsure_. "Danny? Are you okay?"_

My gaze wandered from my fingers to a form that was huddled a number of feet away, covered in a similar-looking liquid. _What is it?_ my mind asked distantly as I pushed myself unsteadily to my feet. _There's so much of it…_

_"Don't," _she said,_ "you don't want to see. Go back to sleep, Danny. Please."_

I took a few stumbling steps towards the crumpled figure. _Back to sleep? Why would I want to go back to sleep? I want to know…_ Slowly, gingerly, I crouched down and reached out to touch the young man's arm. I flinched back at the chill feeling of his skin. "Are you okay?" I asked softly, grabbing his shoulder and rolling him over.

Lifeless, unfocused eyes stared up at me, his mouth stretched into an eternal scream. His chest was torn open – blood spilling out of the huge gashes. I stumbled backwards in horror, bringing my hand up to my mouth. Bile rose in my throat at the sight of the body. "He's dead," I whispered, more to myself than to anybody else. "He's dead," I whimpered again, clamping a hand tightly over my mouth to hold back the scream that was building inside of me.

The warm, sticky liquid pulled at my cheeks as it began to dry, and suddenly everything crashed inside my head. I jerked my blood-covered hand away from my face, staring at the crimson fluid in terror. _It's… it's…_

My eyes flickered frantically from my hands to the dead body and back. _I… I… I killed…_

Panic overwhelmed me. As the scream of terror tore free, blackness once again began to overwhelm my mind.

For just a moment, Phantom seemed to appear next to me, crouched down, his arms on my shoulders. _"I'll take care of it, Danny. Go back to sleep."_

And then all was black.

* * *

_The young woman groaned, rolling her sore shoulders. "So am I falling for it? Is Walker influencing my mind too?" She stretched her arms over her head before letting them fall back into her lap. "Apparently not, because I sure as Hell don't want to fight. Maybe the boy did something to break Walker's hold over everybody."_

_She brushed the journal out of her lap and closed her eyes, carefully bringing up one aching hand to prod her right eye. "Ow…" It was going to be one huge bruise. Already, the swelling was preventing her from opening her eye the entire way. It made reading the boy's messy handwriting really difficult._

_"But what's Walker's deal with the torture thing?" she muttered darkly, fingering the various cuts and scratches on her legs. "He's torturing Danny, looking for whatever it was he lost. And he's torturing me." Silence fell as she tried to put the puzzle pieces together in her mind. "So… whatever Walker thinks Danny took… he hasn't found it yet?" Her eyes flickered around the cell in surprise. "So… it could still be in here?"_

_She shook her head, wincing at the pain in her neck. "No, Danny hasn't taken anything of Walker's. He would have mentioned…" She trailed off as her thoughts suddenly smashed together in her head._

_"That other person that writes… he took something." Grabbing the book and flipping back through the pages, she scanned the tiny writing. "L'Jai. He took something of…" she broke off, a look of surprise on her face everything all fell together._

_"The rat. He said his name was L'Jai in Danny's delirium. AND he wrote that his name was L'Jai on the previous page."_

_"The rat… was real? He really brought Danny soup? He can _really_ talk?"_

_She was silent as her eyes searched the cell for the elusive rodent that had kept her company on-and-off. "Interesting. I always thought he looked smarter than a normal rat." After a moment, she continued, musing aloud. "But what did you take from Walker?"_

_Flipping back through the pages, rereading the descriptions of Walker, a grin grew on her face. "That's got to be it," she whispered, "he's always had it, and now it's gone."_

_"But why would a rat take that?"_

_Letting her mind drift, her fingers danced unconsciously over a short phrase that the rat had written in the last part of the journal:_

_"…something so key to his rule_…"

_And she continued to read…_

* * *

_Special Bonus section:_

White hair twirled between her fingers as the young ghost waited. Emerald eyes gazed confidently around the harshly lit pit as she tamped down on the anxious feelings bubbling in her stomach. She had heard the screams of the fighters before her. Two distinct screams – one a deep male voice, definitely human from the waves of fear that had seeped into her waiting room; the other more of a boy's, full of horror and pain. She knew the boy, the ghost, had won the fight since the human's emotions had been cut off so suddenly… so why had he screamed _after_ he won? What had happened?

When the opposite door finally slammed open revealing her opponent, she shook herself out of her contemplations and dropped into a slight crouch. After the briefest of moments, she stopped, wrinkling her nose, not bothering to continue getting ready to fight.

_Nope_, she concluded as she watched the terrified ghost cling to the guards, _not going to be much of a fight_. The white-garbed guards pushed and zapped the ghost, trying to get him to let go of them. When they were finally free of their clingy prisoner, they vanished upwards; leaving the ghost huddled in a sobbing pile on the ground.

She tipped her head, vaguely annoyed at the ghost's attitude. "Crying's going to get you nowhere," she called out to the ghost.

He didn't raise his balding head. Curling up into a tighter ball, he ignored her.

She drifted into the air, stretching out her legs. Floating just above the bloody slurry of the pit, the younger ghost held out her hand. A swirl of green energy, a tingle of power, and a knife was balanced carefully on the palm of her hand. She smiled, examining at it closely. This was a new talent – creating knives like this – and she was still experimenting. This knife was lacking in any real detail, but it was nicely balanced for once.

One eye on the hysterical ghost a dozen feet away, she set the knife on her fingertip and balanced it there for a moment. "Hey, you ready?" she asked, waiting patiently for her opponent to come to his senses.

No response. His shoulders were hunched over and shaking as he wept into the mucky ground.

She rolled her eyes, giving up. There wouldn't be much of a fight, but she was okay with that. Tossing her knife up into the air, she grabbed its handle, twisting the tip to point at the other ghost. She formed a wash of power, feeling it sizzle against her nerves as it trailed down her arm, and poured it into the knife. The knife grew into a rapier, a filigreed guard appearing and snaking around her hand protectively, the tip of the blade extending nearly two feet from her hand.

The ghost-girl drifted to right next to her opponent before squatting down in mid air and grabbing his hair. She pulled on it, forcing his head up, red eyes meeting hers. "No offense. It's just business."

His red eyes widened when he noticed her rapier. Before he could manage anything more than a strangled whimper, she slammed the impossibly sharp point into his head between his eyes. Releasing of his hair and letting the blade dissolve away at the same time, she watched the ghost go limp and collapse into the mud. Green ectoplasm drained out of him, a miniature Amazon River in a flood of blood.

She hovered, turning her back on the disintegrating ghost, phasing a few drops of wayward blood off of her hands and arms. "Two down," she whispered, waiting for the guards to come and escort her back to her cell. Emerald eyes hardened when she spotted the spectral warden up in the stands. "Give me someone worth fighting."

Walker, almost like he could hear her muttered demand over the bustling crowds, suddenly smiled.


	12. Page 9

"Danny." 

I paced back and forth in that dreamscape arena, almost snarling at that annoying replica of myself that always seemed to be here. At least he wasn't trying to imitate Ember at the moment; that was a plus. "Leave me alone," I snapped back.

"No. We need to talk." His eyes… _my_ eyes… appeared right in front of me, swirling with concern. "Stop pacing."

"I don't want to talk about it," I muttered, turning away from him. I didn't even want to _think_ about what had just happened, the last thing I wanted to do was talk about it with some crazy version of myself that wouldn't leave me alone.

"I'm sorry," he whispered from behind me.

"What?" I whirled around on him, staring in his direction, my mind screaming at me to let it drop instead of push it.

"I'm sorry you woke up – I didn't mean for that to happen." He sounded weird when he said that last bit, gazing at the ground with his hand nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

Wrinkling my forehead, I watched him while my head scrambled to try and figure out why he sounded so… off. He was me, after all, so I should be able to figure this… "You're lying to me," I said as it suddenly clicked. I've never been a good liar.

Green, guilty eyes flickered up to meet my own before finding their way to the ground again.

"You _wanted_ me to do that?" I took a few steps nearer as anger colored my voice. "You _wanted_ me to know I killed that innocent man?"

His eyes shot up from the ground to focus on mine, this time narrowed with determination. "I'm sorry, but you _have _to know. You have got to deal with this. You can't just ignore these fights or you'll go crazy!"

"I'm not trying to ignore them, I can't remember them!" I retorted.

"Yes, actually, you could," he muttered, crossing his arms. "You just have to _want _to. It's _you_ doing it, after all."

I turned away, storming across the pit. "Leave me alone."

Behind me, Phantom was talking to himself and shaking his head in sad annoyance. "Sooner or later you'll have to care, you'll have to remember. Someday soon you will _have_ to accept what you did."

Spinning on one heel to pace in a new direction, _something_ flickered through my mind. A few more steps and it happened again: a picture of a young girl, clinging to my leg, not noticing the descending blade that would end her life. I shivered, picking up the pace a bit. Another flicker: the man from the last fight with his blades raised in a futile attempt to stop his death. "No!" I hissed, "I didn't want to kill them."

"No, you didn't want to," Phantom said softly, suddenly appearing in front of me again and grabbing my shoulders. He stared into my eyes, concern and anger warring in his gaze. "But you _survived_, Danny. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I killed them! That's wrong. That's evil!" My voice wasn't coming out anywhere near as forceful as I had hoped and my eyes were beginning to burn.

A cold voice chuckled from the shadowed recesses and Phantom tensed, his green eyes focusing off to the side. When it actually spoke, the voice was dripping with suppressed rage, "I agree with you Danny. What you did was wrong."

I twisted towards the familiar voice before flinching away from the sight of my evil counterpart. Wrapping my arms tightly around myself, I closed my eyes and sank to the ground. _I don't want to think about it. I'm not evil…_

"Fine!" Phantom simmered, "killing is wrong. But you _still_ can't be blamed for it! This is Walker's fault."

"It's my fault," I whispered.

"You will never leave the Pits if you can't accept what Walker is forcing us to do." Fabric rustled and the next time I heard his odd, echoing voice it sounded like he was right next to me. "You need to see that this is _not_ your fault. This isn't _our_ fault." A chill hand touched my shoulder. "We can escape this, you know. We can be free."

"Free?" I hissed, my eyes popping open. "How can I ever be _free_? I'm a monster! I'm no better than him!" I gestured wildly at Dan as Phantom backed away from me. "I _like_ fighting… and I want to kill. Deep inside my I _want_ to destroy Walker. I want to kill him!" I really didn't care that I was screaming by this point, tears leaking down my face, completely out of control. "Even if I get free of this place, how can I ever go home? I'm a murderer."

"No," Phantom murmured, shaking his head, "you're not. _We're_ not. We've survived."

"Leave me alone," I whispered.

"Danny…"

"Please. Just go away."

Phantom was standing there, hands at his sides, a lost look on his face. He opened his mouth to talk but Dan beat him to it. Chuckling softly under his breath, he walked up to me and placed his hand on my shoulder. "Yeah," he snickered, "just go away."

The world dissolved around me, twisting and shifting back into my familiar cell, but that clammy, frozen hand remained on my shoulder. Before that lingering phantom feeling faded completely away, it almost felt like the hand had shifted subtly to curl around my neck.

The monster of my worst nightmares had me, quite literally, by the throat.

* * *

I ended up lying on my cot some time later, staring up at the ghost lights that spun and twirled on the ceiling. I now had a total of five: three flickering green lights and two blue ones. They seemed to be having a slow-speed chase around the border of my cell, suddenly jumping into fast forward at various times, before falling back into the more solemn walk. "What's wrong with me?" I asked them.

The lights didn't answer – they didn't even seem to notice my presence. They just continued their slow-fast race. They did… nothing.

"So you think nothing is wrong with me?" I raised an eyebrow, lacing my fingers behind my head and propping one foot on top of the other. Laughing softly at the fact that I was talking to the strange lights, I continued to watch them play. More and more, I was viewing these lights like little children and fellow inmates than just strange, ghostly lights - especially after what happened with Muerto.

"You remember Muerto?" I thought aloud. "He liked poetry and, for some reason, dressed like the Grim Reaper." One of the green lights seemed to hesitate, stopping the odd game the flickers had going. "After I…" I drifted off, but shook my head and started over. "After I killed him, a ghost light appeared. There's got to be some kind of connection, right?"

The hovering green light continued to hold still for a few moments after I finished talking. Then, for less time than it takes to blink, the light _changed_. I stared at the light, back to normal, as it started to play with the others again. "What was that?" I waited, but the light didn't repeat its weirdness. It had happened so fast I wasn't sure exactly what I had seen.

"Is that your way of telling me I'm right?" I asked sarcastically, not expecting a response. I just sighed and sat up. "Oh, there's something wrong with me alright. I'm trying to have a conversation with a sentient light bulb."

"We can add that to the _other_ things I've been talking to lately; weird, alternate pieces of myself, hallucinations, and rats." Chuckling softly, I rolled my eyes and let my eyes travel around my small cell. Thick bricks, mortar, the slightly singed door – nothing new to look at. Nothing new to think about; nothing except the latest being to die at my hand. Nothing to keep myself from contemplating death and my slow and seemingly inescapable descent into evilness. "This is boring," I muttered darkly.

_I could be thinking of an escape plan._

Biting my lip, I focused down on the wood grain of the cot. I wasn't entirely sure that thought had been… mine… But then who's could it be?

_How many different ways could I kill Walker? What kind of death does he deserve for all the torture he has put me through?_

I shivered. There was no denying that, deep down, I wanted to get some kind of revenge against Walker. On some level, I even wanted to destroy him for what he had done to so many people. But these thoughts that were drifting through my head were dripping with blood and murder. They didn't sound like _me_.

_If he could be caught alive, he could be thrown into the Pits. Walker versus his goons – that'd be a match to watch._

"Stop it," I whispered. "I'm not going to kill Walker."

_But I want to…_

"I'm better than Walker!" I snapped. "I'm _not_ going to kill him. I won't sink to his level." Blinking when I found myself suddenly in ghost mode, frigid energy flowing around me in a tiny whirlpool, and I waited for the thoughts to resurface. My fingers clenched tightly around the edge of the cot and my toes curled in the slipper-like shoes. A few breaths later and I slowly relaxed, taking a deep breath.

_Do you really think you can escape without killing him?_

"Go away." The fact that the voice had suddenly switched from first person to second person was chilling. It almost felt like there was someone else in my head.

_It's going to be you or him. You'll have to choose._

"I'm not going to be the next Walker. I'm not going to kill on purpose."

_Good luck_. The voice vanished in a low chuckle, leaving me with a shiver running down my back.

"I'll find a way around it," I murmured, but my voice was soft and wavering. I narrowed my eyes, turning one of my hands into a tight fist. "I'm not doing that. I promise."

"Promise what?"

Eyes widening in surprise, I looked up. Former was standing in the doorway, looking at me with an odd look in his caramel eyes. I blinked at him for the longest time. "Where…?"

"Didn't notice the door open?" he asked with a small grin.

I shook my head. "Um… hi?"

"Hi." We were silent for a few moments before he took a step into the cell and the door swung shut behind him. "We didn't really get to finish our talk yesterday…"

"Talk?" I was still a little off balance from the weird thoughts that had been coursing through my head. Furrowing my eyebrows, our last chat filtered into my mind: Walker's ability to 'control' everybody with some sort of subliminal rules. "Oh yeah. We weren't done?"

Former just stood there, shifting from foot to foot. "Not quite."

Watching him act so nervous, a question popped into my head. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-one."

"That's it?" I floated off the cot, tipping my head to the side. "I thought you were older."

He shook his head and wandered over to the bed. Settling back down on the hard surface next to him, I was silent and waited for him to say something. I was just about to try and figure out what to say to break the awkward silence when he spoke. "I'm sorry."

"What?"

"I'm sorry about you having to fight Neilson. Walker didn't give me many choices." Former fiddled with the small book that he had brought with him, an odd note in his voice.

"It's not your fault."

He looked up at me, a smile twitching the corners of his mouth. "Thanks. But I am sorry."

"Me too," I whispered as a picture of the young man I'd killed flittered through my mind.

Silence descended on the small cell until Former cleared his throat and started to talk. "Yesterday I told you this place is like a lair. See, I wanted to tell you that there's a set of doors in the Ghost Zone that leads to the Pits… just like any other lair." Former opened up the green book and flipped through it for a second before showing me a pencil sketch of a set of fancy, oak doors that were covered in odd-looking swirls.

I grabbed the book, wrinkling my forehead and pushing the thoughts of 'Neilson' out of my head. "They don't look like the kind of doors that would lead to a pit of doom and destruction."

Chuckling, Former leaned back on the cot. "No, they really don't."

"So? What's the point? It's a lair with a door."

He reached over and turned the page to a sketch of the Ghost Zone. "Ever wonder where you go when you walk through one of the doors? Ghost lairs are actually outside the Ghost Zone just a tiny bit – they each have their own, little dimension. Think… if the Ghost Zone is dimension 1, this lair," he pointed to a random door, "would be dimension 1.01 and this lair," he pointed to another door, "might be dimension 1.84 or something. Each door leads to its own 'micro-dimension'."

"Okay…" I was kind of following this odd discussion, but I still had no idea where it was going.

"But, remember, the Pits used to be part of the human world."

I blinked, floating up off the cot a bit. "Yeah. There used to be a whole hybrid _city_… and this is just what was left of it after the portal closed."

"The story goes that there're _two_ doors in the Pits because of that. One door is the one that leads to the Ghost Zone that all the patrons come through. The other – so the rumor goes – was discovered about twenty years ago and leads to the human world."

_Escape… _Time seemed to stop for a moment, the world narrowing around me as my mind focused on that one word. If I could find that door, then I could go _home_.

"The Pits becomes more like a conduit," he continued, "a half-way point between the human world and the Ghost Zone." He shrugged, taking the book out of my numb fingers. "If the Ghost Zone was dimension 1 and the human world was dimension 2, then the Pits would be dimension 1.5 – somewhere right in between."

"Where is this door?"

He just shrugged again, sending me a small smile. "Nobody knows. I've looked for during my breaks for a few years and I haven't seen any sign of a door like that."

"Then how do you know it really exists?"

Closing his eyes, a small smile appeared on his face. "When we… I was 'adopted' by Walker and brought to the Pits, I went right from an odd-looking place in the human world to a huge, dark room in the Pits. I didn't travel through the Ghost Zone."

"You went through the door," I whispered, my eyes glowing.

"That would be my guess. I've been trying to remember where it was for years, but I've never been able to find it." He sighed and glanced at me. "It doesn't really matter. You'd need Walker's key to get through the door and there's no way you'd be able to get that."

I shifted on the cot, my eyes flickering down to the blades that were attached to my arms. _I could get it…_ that oily voice whispered in my brain, _and don't say he doesn't deserve it._ The slim edge of the star bright metal glinted helpfully in the glow of the ghost lights. "Why are you telling me this?"

Former blinked at me for a moment. "Huh?"

"What's the point of telling me this?" I pointed to the picture in the book and shook my head. "I'm just going to die in one of these fights. There's really no _point_ to telling me this stuff. So why are you?"

Former shrugged and paged through the book again, an odd look on his face. A small slip of paper slid out from between the pages and fluttered to the bed, but Former snatched it before I could see what was on it. "There're more rumors," he said suddenly, ignoring my question as he thrust the book back at me. The two pages were covered with tiny drawings of buildings and people, the bottom corner of one of the pages dedicated to a small map of a city. "One of the rumors says that there's a _third_ door."

"A third door?" I asked. "Where would it lead?"

He snapped the book shut, standing up and carefully putting the slip of paper into his pocket. "Well, think about it. If we're in dimension 1.5… what else is? What other creatures inhabit this micro-dimension?"

I twisted around and stared at the walls like I could see through them. "There's stuff beyond the walls?"

"Makes sense, doesn't it? What happened to the _rest_ of the ancient city? Nobody knows, though, since there aren't any windows in the Pits. The rest of the city has got to be somewhere – and there's more than likely a door that leads there. Or at least some kind of portal."

Raising my eyebrow, I just repeated my question. "There's stuff beyond the walls?" The thought was radical… nonsense… impossible… and yet made a sort of odd sense. I thought about all the small rooms and lairs I'd been in throughout the Ghost Zone. What lay behind _those _walls?

"I've always thought it was fun to try and think about. What lives beyond the walls? It could be anything." He moved towards the door, fumbling with the small book when he reached the door. "Oh, rats," he muttered as the book fell to the floor.

"What?" A thought tickled in my head as Former knelt to pick up the book and gave me an odd look.

"I tripped," he said with a wrinkle of his forehead.

I nodded, not really paying attention to Former as he shut the door behind him. I was too focused on the _thought_ that was germinating in my head. It tingled, growing stronger, butterflies suddenly bursting into life in my stomach as I _knew_ something important was about to happen.

"Oh, rats?" I whispered his words softly to myself as the thought bloomed suddenly. Floating off the bed, I drifted down to lie on the floor and stare under my cot. There, hidden in the shadows, was the corner where that stupid rat regularly vanished - where he went through a wall that nobody else could get through. Almost like there was some sort of portal there. Or maybe a door.

I reached forwards, the point of my blade clicking softly against the hard stone. "Rats…

Could there really be a hidden third door? Could it really be in _my cell?_

I let out a deep breath, changing back to human and resting my chin on my arms. The cold of the rough floor instantly started to seep through my thin clothes, but I didn't move. My eyes were focused on the darkened corner.

"No," I muttered after a while, pushing myself to my feet and settling back down onto the cot. "That'd be too much of a coincidence – an impossible coincidence."

It'd almost have to have been planned…

* * *

I couldn't sleep. I was lying on my cot an indeterminate amount of time later, just watching the ghost lights dance and play. The half-thought that I should try counting sheep had crossed my mind, but my mind was too busy for counting. Despite the fact that it was impossible for that rumored third door to be under _my_ cot, my mind wouldn't stop whirling around the idea.

If nothing else, it kept me from thinking about who I'd killed and what was going to happen next. Just what could be out there?

Former had been showing me pictures of the ancient city when he had mentioned the third door. It was pretty obvious that he figured the city was still there, and that this mysterious door would lead to it. In reality, though, _anything_ could be outside the walls of the Pits. It could be a paradise or it could be a wasteland.

I raised an eyebrow, a grin flickering across my face. It could be a rat-infested wasteland.

Sighing, I closed my eyes and forced that thought back out of my head. It was time to _sleep_, not time to… More questions flooded into my head. Why had Former taken the time to tell me all this? What was the point? He wanted me to know, but…

Something clattered under my cot. I suddenly froze and held my breath, my ears straining to pick up any other sounds. For a dozen heartbeats I remained perfectly still, waiting. But when nothing happened and my brain started to get fuzzy from lack of oxygen, I took a deep breath and rolled over to peer under the cot.

Nothing.

"Stupid rat," I hissed. "You're keeping me from sleeping." I waited a moment. "I know it's you, rat. Come on out."

I was just about to push myself back up onto the cot when something glittered. I frowned, tilting my head to the side – but it was too dark. Stuffing my hand under the cot, I called a bunch of energy to my fingers. In the eerie glow of the spectral energy, I could see a small, metallic object lying on the floor. I squinted but I couldn't make out what it was. Maybe a foot long, thicker on one end and thin on the other.

I let myself fall off the bed and crawled forwards until my still glowing fingers wrapped around the chill metal. "Ow!" I yelped, yanking my hand backwards and glancing down at my hand. A small line of cuts had appeared along the insides of my fingers. Tiny trickles of blood were slipping down my fingers. This thing – whatever it was – was sharp.

Much more carefully this time, I pulled the object towards me and scooted out from under the bed. The second I got it out into the light, I knew what it was.

Kneeling on the floor and cradling it in my hands, I waited patiently for my brain to connect _this_ and _that_. My eyes flickered from the glinting metal to the shadows under my bed.

The rat…

The door…

I curled the fingers of my unhurt hand around the grimy hilt of the small blade and held it up before my eyes. Dried blood coated the rusty metal in macabre patterns.

The rat…

The door…

Walker's knife…

It was like a giant mystery that was refusing to untangle itself in my head. I just continued to sit there for the longest time, staring at the knife that had found its way into my cell. Questions swirled in my head and congealed at one point, their probing fingers forcing me to say the one word that was pounding through my head.

"Why?"

* * *

"At least it'll be an easy fight," Former said as he leaned over his giant book and made a few marks with his pen. "He's got one of the most mysterious records in the history of the Pits. He's only a few appearances away from being the creature that has been in the Pits the most times. The record is thirty-seven."

Folding my legs, I floated quietly in the air on the other side of the table. "_Easy?_ He's won that many fights and you say it's going to be easy?"

He shot me a grin. "He's got a record of zero and thirty-three."

"He's won thirty-three times?" I said faintly.

Former shook his head, his smile twisting into a perplexed look. "He's _lost_ thirty-three times." Glancing back down at his book, Former muttered, "and there's still a handful of idiots that are betting on him."

I blinked a few times, tossing my questions about the third door and Walker's knife out of my head. "What?" My voice came out sounding strangled. I cleared my throat and tried again. "How can that be? If you lose… you die."

"Exactly," Former said. "However, this particular ghost keeps showing back up in the Ghost Zone after he loses in his pit fight. Nobody has ever been able to figure out how it does it." A small, morose chuckle slipped from him. " Walker's tried to torture it out of him, but what's he going to do - throw him in the Pits for not answering?"

"But…"

"If there's one thing I know about ghosts, it's that the instant you make a rule there'll be a ghost that breaks it."

"But…"

Former set his pen down and leaned over the book. "See if you can get him to tell you his trick. All I can get out of him is various forms of, 'I cannot be killed in a _circular_ container.'" A small smile flickered across his face. " Walker's promised a no-holes-barred, instant freedom to anybody that can tell him how the Box Ghost pulls it off. He's such a weak ghost…"

"The _Box Ghost?!_" I gasped, literally falling out of the air.

Nodding, Former rolled his eyes. "He's got some kind of trick - that much is obvious. Just before he dies… well, you'll see. It's hard to miss."

I just remained on the ground, my eyes wide and my brain turning into mush.

Rats… doors… cities… knives… portals…

"The _Box Ghost?_"

* * *

"Beware!" the boxy blue ghost screamed as soon as he was pushed through the doors on the other side of the pit. "I am the Box Ghost, ruler of all things cardboard and square! You can not hold me in this circular arena!"

I was standing on the sandy floor of the pit, staring up at the floating specter. Our fight was one of the first of the day – the pit floor was basically dry and clean. I tipped my head to the side, watching the ghost rant and wave his hands.

The crowd that had gathered for the fight was beginning to chant and scream. Through the building noise, I could almost hear my name being repeated. "Phantom, Phantom, Phantom!" I sighed, shaking my head as a memory of going to a baseball game flickered through my mind. Tucker had been doing the same thing, screaming the name of the winning team as they slaughtered their opponent.

Just for a second, an odd thought twitched in my mind. Do all these ghosts think they're at some kind of game? I bit my lip, scanning the crowds of faces. Do they _really_ know what happens to the losers?

I narrowed my eyes, forcing that thought out of my head. The ghosts knew what was going on – they knew that people were being killed.

_They just want to see bloodshed_, the voice whispered in the back of my mind. _They are just as guilty as Walker and his guards._ Visions of spilt blood and tendrils of revenge flickered through my thoughts. _They deserve to die as well._

"Stop it," I whispered and then blinked when the Box Ghost stopped his meaningless ranting and turned to face me.

"Phantom!" he crowed, "Bow down before the might of the Box Ghost!"

"Right," I said softly, "like that'll ever happen."

A slightly-glowing box appeared in his hands and he grinned at me over the sharp edges. "Beware!" The box flew through the air, but I just stepped to the side and it sailed past me. "Fear the might of my cubical instruments of doom!" Another box, another step to the side.

_You're going to have to fight him._

"I know," I muttered under my breath.

_How are you going to do it?_ The voice seemed to be reveling in the idea of premeditated murder. _Slice his head off? Cut him to pieces? I personally enjoyed what you did to Muerto – the explosion was nice and the rain of blood was interesting._

"Stop it; I'm not going to do that."

_Something different then? Variety is the spice of life…_

I snarled as I sidestepped a third box. This voice was leaving an oily, sticky residue in my brain that was getting harder and harder to get rid of. But, it did have a point. How was I going to kill the Box Ghost?

"I can't kill the Box Ghost!" The words came out louder than I had expected as my brain suddenly seemed to catch up to the way my thoughts had been going.

The annoying blue specter hesitated, another box in his hands, and stared at me.

_It's going to be him or you. Take your pick._

"I'm not going to _kill_ the Box Ghost," I said sourly, shifting my gaze towards the desiccated Warden sitting in his special box seat. "I'm not going to kill..." I trailed off, confused by the words that had been about to pop out of my mouth.

_A friend?_ The voice interrupted with a chuckle as it picked up on my thoughts. It sounded like it was grinning madly. _You're going to have to kill a friend! Oh, this is perfect._

"He's not my friend." I was watching the Box Ghost again, shifting unhappily from foot to foot. The Box Ghost was just staring at me with an odd expression on his face. "But I can't kill him. He's… I just _can't_ kill the Box Ghost. I _know_ the Box Ghost." For the longest time, we just looked at each other.

Suddenly the Box Ghost grinned, the box in his hands vanishing. "I AM THE BOX GHOST!" he shouted, and then dive-bombed straight for me.

I reacted before my brain could really catch up with me. An arm came up and caught the ghost in the chest, the blade digging in deep. My mouth moved soundlessly as ectoplasm leaked over my arm.

"Find the key," the blue, box-obsessed ghost gasped softly as he collapsed against me. Green lights twirled and danced around the Box Ghost as he dissolved right in front of my eyes. The tiny lights misted and coiled, creating a swirling mass that looked a lot like the fog in the ghost portal in my parents' basement.

Within just moments, the Box Ghost was gone, the swirling colors were gone, and I was left alone in the middle of the pit, by mind struggling to comprehend what was going on. The fact that I had just _killed_ the _Box Ghost_ was overrunning my thoughts.

Rats… doors… cities… knives… portals… Box Ghost… "Find the key?" I whispered, "What key?"

My brain was slowly starting to shut down with all the questions and thoughts piling up inside of it. As I turned around to stumble out of the pit and back to the relative quiet of my cell, my eyes settled on those green-cloaked ghosts in the audience again. First there had been the one and then there had been two. Now, there were at least four green hoods standing silently in the mingling crowd.

Rats… doors… cities… knives… portals… Box Ghost… keys… green ghosts…

_Snap_. You could almost hear my mind shut off like a light switch. That's it. I'm done.

"I'm DONE!" I screamed up at the crowds, most of whom stopped to stare at me. "You hear me? I'm _done!_ I'm not going to fight any more! I'm not going to _KILL ANYMORE!_"

The ghosts blinked down at me in silent confusion. The communal _huh?_ was easy to hear.

Guards surrounded me and dragged me off as the crowd just stared at me.

I was still wallowing in my own thoughts when I saw her. White hair was falling out of her ponytail to dangle in her emerald eyes. I stumbled for a second, barely catching myself before the guards could yank painfully on my arms again. _Dani?_

Her set of guards weren't touching her. It was more of an honor guard than anything else as they flanked her carefully pacing steps. Compassionless eyes stared at me from an unfamiliar face as we neared each other. An aura of power and ruthlessness surrounded her that not even Vlad would have been able to project. _No, _I felt a surge of relief, _it's not Danielle._

She blinked at me, a small smile crossing her face. As we passed, she gave me a small nod before continuing on her way. My head twisted around to follow her as she walked onto the pit grounds without hesitation. This spectral girl was a fighter, a hunter, a predator. Every instinct in my body was screaming to keep away from her – or to at least know where she was at every moment. I couldn't turn my back on her.

It was with a sort of fascinated dread that I kept her in my sights until the very last moment. The doors to the pit slammed shut behind me and an unconscious shiver slid down my back. _I don't want to fight her… I _really_ don't want to fight her…_

* * *

_The girl gasped, jumping to her feet and pacing around the cell, wincing with every other step. "How can he not see it?" she seethed. "It makes so much sense…"_

_She dropped back down next to the book and picked it up. "But, I suppose it's harder to figure out if you're actually a part of it." A flicker of a smile crossed her lips. "Ghost lights are the ghosts of the ghosts that have died. Green for ghosts, blue for humans." Her fingers trailed over the smudged and smeared words. "I do feel sorry for him – having to do all this. At least I won't have to live with the idea that I'm a murderer." A soft sigh escaped her lips. "I'm not going to survive my first fight."_

_Fingers traced over a few of the words back in the journal entry. "I wonder what he did with Walker's knife? The rat brought it to him, I'm sure, but why? That's what Walker must have been looking for earlier… Did he take it with him when he got out of here?"_

_A shiver ran down her spine. "Did he get out of here?" Her eyes danced around the bare cell, looking for a knife that she knew wasn't there. "I wonder where he hid it?"_

_An odd thought slid into her mind. She flipped through the book, staring down at the slip of paper that had fallen out a few pages ago. She stared down at the portrait that had been carefully sketched onto the creased paper. "So many questions…" She smiled suddenly. "He's right – it's a very confusing mystery. But there are some things I do understand."_

_Her thoughts swirled back towards Walker's knife as her fingers tapped on the last words the Box Ghost had said. "It's so obvious… the knife… a key…"_

_Then she slowly turned the page and continued to read…_

* * *

_Special bonus section:_

Walker was sitting in his chair, sun-dried eyes closed, contemplating the various mysteries of the universe. He didn't bother to open his eyes when the young ghost girl destroyed her vulture-like opponent. He had other things on his mind; other, much more important things – such as the young halfa currently molding in a cell.

However, his quiet thoughts were disrupted by the appearance of four creatures in his box. One was expected – his head deputy Bullet. The other three weren't quite as welcome. Walker's nose wrinkled at the thick elephant musk that filled the air. "Great," he muttered, finally resigning himself to opening his eyes.

Bullet was pushed off to the side of the box, making room for one gigantic female elephant and her two sidekicks. The ghost dressed up in a turn-of-the-century war uniform saluted Walker while the other yanked off his safari helmet and gave a small bow. "We're here, as you requested!" the general said.

"I _ordered_ your presence _weeks_ ago," Walker seethed at the bounty hunters, "right after you _caught_ the punk."

The general shrugged, a helpless smile on his face. "Well, you understand, it's hard to keep track of time sometimes. We did get here."

"Yeah," the safari ghost added, "and we're ready for our reward."

"Fine, fine, fine." Walker muttered darkly, closing his eyes again. "Bullet will give it to you. Get out of here."

"Right away, _Sir_!" the general saluted again.

But before they could turn to leave, Walker's eyes flickered open. "One question, before you go." He directed his gaze at the elephant; she was obviously the leader of the group. "How, _exactly,_ did you manage to catch the halfa?"

The elephant looked at him quizzically. "What do you mean? We told you, we hit him with a dart." Her eyes were narrowing suspiciously, her trunk coiling up.

Walker leaned forwards, steepling his fingers, trying to sort out his thoughts. If he were right… "Yes, but where did you manage to procure such a dart? There aren't many ghosts that can create something that will work on halfas."

"We got it from a guy," the safari ghost cut in. "He said it was guaranteed to work!"

"And do you remember this _guy_'s name?" The warden's eyes narrowed. This game of twenty questions was getting annoying.

"AJ?" the general said, more of a question than anything else.

"No, it was UK," the safari hunter corrected. "Or maybe DJ, or TA, or something. It was definitely a couple of letters of the alphabet though."

A menacing grin was growing on his face as he watched the elephant's eyes dart back and forth. She wasn't too happy with how this was going. Walker smiled pleasantly, his smile only widening when the massive elephant backed nervously away from him. "Could it have been an LJ by chance?"

"That was it!" The safari ghost crowed, slapping his hands together, grinning at his two compatriots. The general nodded his agreement. Still looking at Walker apprehensively, the elephant slowly nodded.

"Did you," Walker continued in a soothing tone, "manage to see what this LJ looks like?"

"No, Sir. Never saw him. The letter and dart were sitting on a table, waiting for us." The general nodded as he talked, unaware of the bored expression that was growing on Walker's face when the warden realized the three ghosts had no new information for him to use.

"Fine," Walker muttered darkly. "Now get out of here. Bullet?" The deputy hung back, waiting by Walker's side as the three ghosts vanished through the door. As soon as the door snapped shut behind them, Walker continued. "Take care of them. I don't want what they know leaving this place."

Bullet nodded, a small grin crossing his face. "Sir."

Alone again in the silence, waiting for the next fight to start, Walker closed his eyes. "What are you up to LJ?" he whispered. "Why did you help get the punk into the Pits? And why did you know to steal my knife?"

A mystery wrapped up in a mystery indeed.


	13. Page 10

I just sat there, my arms crossed, firmly in ghost mode, floating a few feet off the ground.

_You're being_…

I tamped down on the voices, refusing to acknowledge their existence. "I'm not going to fight anymore." It was a quiet mantra that I whispered to myself every so often. "I'm not going to fight anymore."

Eyes fixed on a particularly ugly stone in my cell's floor, I bit my lip and fought to keep the voices from resurfacing. I had made my decision and I wasn't going to be swayed. "I'm not going to fight anymore."

_You're going to die…_

I growled softly, snapping my eyes shut and forcing the voice back into the depths of my mind. I didn't _want_ to be talked out of this. "I'm not going to fight anymore."

It wasn't because of the Box Ghost. That ghost had been annoying and – at least if my theory on the ghost lights was correct – he didn't 'die' in our fight since I hadn't acquired a new light this morning. He wasn't the reason I had finally snapped; he was just the last straw… the one that broke the camel's back.

"I'm not going to fight anymore." It was a soft promise that sent a tiny thrill through my mind every time I said it aloud. Conviction, pride, passion, a feeling of 'rightness'… _This must be what Gandhi felt all the time_, I thought.

_…petulant… _filtered into my head.

I refused to be drawn into an argument with my two other 'selves'. I might be a little crazy but I hadn't reached the point where I was willing to fight with the voices in my head. "I'm not going to fight anymore." Not even in my own mind.

"I'm not going to fight anymore."

Slipping over to my cot, I settled down on the hard surface, crossing my arms carefully, locking away the voices in my head. I snorted softly, fighting to keep from laughing as that thought flickered into my mind again. _I was refusing to talk to the voices in my head._

"Where's Jazz when you need her?" I asked the empty room with a small smile. "She'd have a field day with this. She'd probably say I was developing split personalities or something."

I closed my eyes and leaned back against the wall, letting the smile stay on my face as the voices stayed quiet. "I'm not going to fight anymore," I whispered one last time, letting the power of that statement ring through me. I was the teenage half-ghost version of Martin Luther King Jr. I was Rosa Parks, refusing to give up my rights. I was Patrick Henry, ready to die for what I believed in with my one life to give.

I shifted a little on the hard cot and something poked at me from under the thin blanket. Floating up into the air a little, I reached through the blanket and grabbed the offending poker. I dropped back onto my bed and stared down at Walker's knife. I'd forgotten all about it, having stuffed it under the blanket right before the guards had led me off to fight the Box Ghost.

For the first time in all the time I'd been in the Pits, I really got to see it. It had been a nice knife at one point, sharp edges and an artistic handle. It was pretty basic though – simple wood and steel with some small engravings. The only thing that seemed out of place on the streamlined weapon was an ungainly jewel stuck onto the butt of the knife. I scratched at the dried blood on the jewel with my overgrown fingernail. It was a beautiful deep-sea blue, with some kind of golden symbol inside of it.

A bit more scraping and some spit later, the jewel was pretty clean. I held it up to the ghost lights, squinting at the golden thing locked inside the crystal. It looked like a tiny, golden seahorse. Curiosity sated, I let my hands fall back into my lap and I studied the odd knife.

What was I going to do with it?

I didn't want Walker to have it back, that much was for sure. Walker needed to suffer a little for what he was putting everybody through, so I needed to hide it. My eyes flickered around the small cell. There really wasn't much for hiding places. He'd search the cot the second I was dead, so that wouldn't work. The hole in the corner that served as the bathroom was a possibility since there wasn't anything else, but that would also be searched pretty quickly.

Drifting over to the hole, I hesitated, holding the knife in my hands and looking around the room for another option. There were so many questions about this thing, I didn't really want to put it some place I wouldn't be able to get it back. What if I needed it later?

"What later?" I asked sourly, holding the knife out over the hole, "I'm not going to fight anymore, remember?"

But yet, I couldn't let go. Something was tickling at the back of my head. A better option? I turned in the air, letting my eyes flicker over the empty cell. Cot, blanket, stones, mortar, door, stones, mortar, stones, a few more stones, and… My eyes fixed on a small stone next to the door. It was almost perfectly square and had an odd black dot in the middle. "Perfect."

Over all the times I'd gotten bored in this cell, I'd managed to poke and pry at every single one of the 1,986 (or 1,983) stones in the walls, floor, and ceiling in the vain hope that they'd be loose enough to create an escape hole or something. Every single stone had been stuck tight, except for one: a squarish stone by the door with a black dot in the middle. It must have been loosened by an earlier prisoner since there was a pretty nice hole behind the stone. One just big enough for a certain knife that needed some place to hide.

Settling the knife into its new home and making sure the stone didn't look like it'd been moved, I repeated myself one last time before sitting back on the cot to waste the rest of my day.

"Perfect."

* * *

My overall experience in the Pits is easily summarized: insanely long bouts of mind-numbing boredom combined with short spurts of mind-blowing terror and adrenaline. I've sung every single nursery rhyme I know a few hundred times, made horrible attempts at some of my favorite songs, and even learned how to sing the alphabet in reverse without screwing up. Of course, I usually spend a large part of my day sleeping. When there isn't anything else to do, sleeping usually sounds pretty good.

However, today I was determined to _not _sleep, which deprived me of one of my better ways of passing time. I didn't want to sleep because _they_ showed up when I closed my eyes. I didn't want to talk to those bits of personality that were trying to take over my head. They would just try to talk me out of my decision to not fight again.

And I'm not going to fight anymore.

I was currently humming to myself, tapping my foot distractedly against the leg of the cot. It was an odd tune, especially when combined with my hollow, echoing voice. An eerie reverberation was building in my cell, a soulless sound that sent shivers down my back. It was a haunting melody filled with all of my pain, love, loss, and happiness. I had fit words to my tune a while ago.

"Despite the rain… despite the pain," I sang softly as the echoes of my humming slowly died away. "Your hand in mine, and we'll stand tall." I could picture my family as I whispered the song to myself; Sam and Tucker right next to them.

I started humming again. As the lingering melody floated through the air, I knocked my heel against the wood leg of my cot in time to the beat. _Thump-thump, thump, thump-thump, thump…_

Then, just for something different, I tapped the blades on my arms together. It was still extremely weird – I could _feel_ the blades touch each other, not unlike tapping my fingernails together – but it was a sensation that I was slowly getting used to. The sound of the star-silver blades rang through the echoing hum like a soft church bell tolling the death of a saint in a moonlight graveyard.

It was, without a single doubt, extremely _creepy._

Not enough to stop me from my haunting little lullaby, however. If anything, it interested me enough to get me to continue. I kept humming, reveling in the fact that all the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck were standing up and small shivers were running down my spine. I tapped the blades together in an eerie beat. It was the perfect show of exactly how I was feeling… melancholy, tired, and given-up.

I was so entranced by the ghostly song that it took a while to notice what was going on. Above my head, the ghost lights were all hovering, bobbing and swaying in time to the music. They seemed to be riveted to the tune, waiting for something.

It was like something out of a movie – a song suited for a graveyard, sung by a ghost, surrounded by death, firefly-like spirits dancing around in the darkness. Beautifully eerie and otherworldly.

Just then, the door slammed open and Walker stormed in. The ghost lights flickered and swooped to the farthest corners of my cell and I blinked at him. Energy was rolling off of the enraged warden in almost painful waves. He glared at me as the remnants of my hummed tune drifted into oblivion. "I know he's here."

I didn't answer, I just stared at him. I'd never seen the warden so incredibly angry before. His raisin eyes had swollen with power until they were literally glowing and sparking with energy. Walker himself had increased in size until he had to crouch to get through the tall door leading into my cell. Fury flashed around him and I surreptitiously pushed myself back a bit. I found my voice just long enough for one word: "Who?"

"LJ. That sneaky little thief. He's here and you're hiding him."

The name slipped into my head like I'd heard it somewhere before but I couldn't remember where. He must have seen my confusion because Walker reached out and flipped my cot over. I went intangible just long enough to not get squashed and continued to hover in the air as Walker riffled through my small room. "He's got to be here," Walker mumbled as he stalked from one end of the room to the other. "He's behind all this and he stole my knife. He stole my _knife_. Why would he know to steal my knife?"

_Knife?_ It took some work to keep my face from showing my sudden interest in what he was muttering about.

Walker's fingers tightened around his stick-like cane and he swung it through the air. As I ducked to prevent myself from being whapped in the head, Walker grabbed the front of my shirt. "Where is it? Where is _he_? What is his plan?" His eyes were bursting with energy, flickering insanely from me to the empty room and then back to me.

"I don't know," I said softly.

"One must _speak up _when spoken to!" Walker gave me a sharp shake and tossed me against a wall. "Of course you know. You're probably in on this. It's not going to work, you know." He stalked after me and pinned me to the floor with the end of his stick. "This place is _mine_, you hear me Punk? It's been mine for longer than you've been alive – and no dirty little _ghost_ is going to steal it away from me. And don't think I don't know what you were up to with that last fight. It's not going to work. I'm going to find my key and things are going to go back to the way they were. Those stupid rebels aren't going to win. I'm the law, I'm the authority, and _I will win._"

He jabbed me once in the ribs for each of those last three words to emphasize his point before turning and slamming his way out of my cell, vanishing as quickly as he had appeared. I rubbed at my chest where the stick had poked me and stared at the closed door, completely and totally confused. I felt like someone had just yanked a rug out from under my feet – I was missing _something_. The ghost lights were huddled in the corners casting their spectral light down on the (once again) broken cot. It was lying where Walker had thrown it in three distinct pieces. I really only knew two things: one, that Walker really wanted his knife back; and two, Walker was going crazy looking for his knife.

In the end, though, it didn't really matter much. I wasn't going to fight anymore, so I didn't really need to worry about some insane warden and his crazy chase for a bloody knife. I leaned back against the wall and hummed softly for a moment, trying to sort out my head. The tune just wasn't working now – you really need to be in a melancholy mood to pull of that kind of eerie tune and I wasn't in that kind of mood any more. I got up, slowly picked up the burned scrunchie and crumpled photograph that had been under my pillow, and brought the blanket and pillow back over to a spot by the wall.

Then – with nothing better to do as another long session of 'mind-numbing boredom' set in – I sat down and theorized about what had thrown Walker over the edge, who this LJ was, and what was so important about his knife. When the silence got to be too much, I told my craziest theories to the ghost lights that were once again dancing around my ceiling.

Not that they answered. I'm not sure what I would have done if they had started talking to me too. But yet it would have been nice to get some answers for once.

* * *

A forever amount of time later, I was slumped against the wall, knees drawn up to my chest, staring blurrily at the other side of the room. I'd never actually fallen sleep while in ghost mode – it'd never even occurred to me to wonder whether or not I could sleep as a ghost. I didn't have a heart beat, Hell, I didn't even have a real _brain _if you wanted to get down to it… just a mess of gooey ectoplasmic energy that had some kind of function to it. Could I sleep? Would I dream? Would I turn human the minute I dropped off?

The thoughts buzzing around in my head were droning like a hive of bees. A hive of bees that was a million miles away. I kept jerking upwards, my eyes flashing open, whenever an odd falling sensation swept through me. I wasn't going to fall asleep. _They_ were always there when I fell asleep and I didn't want to talk to them.

Between my rapid blinking and fighting to stay awake, I noticed one of the ghost lights drift down through the air to hover right in front of me. They had never left the ceiling before, but I was too tired to really care. The tiny green light flickered and flashed in front of me. For a brief moment, I could have sworn that the light had been wearing an odd hooded cape and carrying a scythe – but that couldn't be. It was just a light.

My arms were resting on my knees, those star-silver blades glittering in the light. Slowly the ghost light dropped closer and closer to me. "I wish I could just go home," I rasped softly. I needed a drink of water, but the bucket of water was officially too far away for me to get now.

The light merely flickered and drifted a little bit closer.

It was nice to have someone that was going to listen to me talk. "I wanted to see my family one last time, you know? I just wish I could tell them goodbye." My eyes drifted closed. It took too much energy to keep them open when, really, there was nothing to look at. I figured I wasn't in any more danger of falling asleep with my eyes open than with my eyes closed.

"I'm going to die here." I laughed tiredly. "And I never got to say goodbye. I never got to find out if Sam and Tucker are okay. I wish I could see them again." A sigh slid through me as I let my head fall backwards against the cool stone. "I even wish I could go to school again."

My breathing was slow and steady, the rock wall a bit too comfortable. I shifted, just a little, and let myself relax. "It's too bad I can't sleep, it'd be a really good way to pass the time." I wasn't entirely sure my words were still coherent.

"Whadda-you-think?" I slurred, opening one eyes to study the light that was dancing an inch from the tip of my blade. "Any stories to tell? You don't happen to grant wishes, do you?"

The light reached out. Almost in slow motion I watched the tiny thread of eerily glowing plasma sneak closer to the tip of the blade attached to my right arm. My brain tried to kick into gear, telling my arm to move out of the way, but I was too late. The thread touched my blade.

My mind exploded.

* * *

When the bright light cleared, I raised a hand to my head and groaned. I was dizzy beyond compare. Remaining sitting was actually a challenge with the ground dipping and swooping around me. Focusing on the ground, I waited for the world to settle down.

I blinked, staring closer at the floor. Rather than the rough-cut stones I had been expecting, it was a clean and shiny linoleum floor. A familiar-looking linoleum floor.

My head jerked up, my breath catching in my throat. The table was there, the chairs were there, every possessed and tricked out appliance was perched on the overfilled countertops. Despite the still-undulating ground, I pushed myself to my feet. "Mom?" I whispered. The kitchen was empty as I struggled to remain standing. "Dad?"

It was too good to be true, I figured as I stared around at my family's kitchen. _This is some kind of trick, some kind of new torture…_ Taking a step forwards, I silently cursed Walker. _It's going to be a cold day in Hell before he gets that knife back after this trick._

I stumbled up to the table, weaving on my feet. The table was filled with papers and news clippings: maps of the Ghost Zone, maps of Amity Park, stories about my disappearance. I took a shuddering breath when I saw a piece about how Phantom had vanished as well. _Why would she cut that out?_

Leaning closer I read a bit of it. "Resident ghost hero Danny Phantom hasn't been seen in nearly five weeks. While there are many theories about the location of the town's most famous spook, most of the speculation in recent days has been about the sudden down-swing in the number of spectral invaders. In the past three weeks, there have only been two calls placed to the local haunt-line. Normally, there would be two or more a day. Many people assume the disappearance of our teen ghost many have something to do with the lack of hauntings."

_Five weeks?_ I blinked in surprise and reached out to pick up the clipping. _I've been gone for five weeks already?_ Before my fingers could touch the paper, the back door knob jiggled. I froze, watching in trepidation as the green-splattered door swung open.

"Mom!" I cried before I realized I was still in ghost mode. I held perfectly still, my gaze flickering from her face to the ectogun in her hands. Mom turned away from me and dropped the gun on the counter, groaning and reaching out to open a cabinet.

"Mom? Mrs. Fenton?" I stepped away from the table, watching as she got out a glass and filled it with water. "Hello?"

She walked past me with her water glass and dropped down onto a kitchen chair with a sigh. After taking a drink, she riffled through the papers on the table and spread out a large map of the Ghost Zone. "Danny," she finally said.

"What?"

"Danny, where are you?" She was gazing down at the map, trailing her fingers over the badly drawn images of the Ghost Zone.

"I'm right here," I whispered, but I was getting a really bad feeling. My stomach clenched as I walked up next to her. Passing my hand in front of her eyes didn't even get her to blink. I unsteadily paced back and forth in the small kitchen, my mind beginning to throb. The light that came through the windows danced through a small prism and cascaded onto the white linoleum in a rainbow of color. Every time I walked through the broken beam of light, the colors on the floor would shift a little as I passed.

I crouched down in the light from the window, staring down at the steadily shifting light on the floor. When I was in the way of the light, the reds would drift into purple and back, the greens would become bluish, the yellow would stain a deep orange. I was like a spectral prism. It took a moment for my aching head to figure out what I was staring at. Or, rather, not staring at.

My hand touched the floor, the unbroken stream of light making the blades on my arm glow with all the colors of the sunset. But, despite hovering just above the ground, my hand cast no shadow on the floor. My whole body was lacking a shadow.

Then, just to make sure I was right, I walked over to the table and tried to pick up one of the pieces of paper. My fingers slid right through the paper like it wasn't even there.

"AH!" I snarled, stalking away from the table. I was still dizzy and unsteady, so my stalk wasn't nearly as fuming angry as I wanted it to be. "I'm not even really here, am I? So what, am I dead?" I twisted on my mom, who was sitting obliviously at the table. "Did I finally die and now I'm stuck here?" I stared at her, frustration making me curl my fingers into fists.

"Why am I even asking you! You can't hear me!" I slammed my hand down on the table, forgetting for a moment that I couldn't touch it. My hand passed straight through it, overbalancing me for a second. The papers on the table twitched, but that was it.

I dropped down onto the floor, propping my chin up with my hand, and fumed. Here I was – home – and not able to do a thing about it. Nobody could hear me, nobody could touch me, nobody could even know I was _there_. I wasn't even sure I was still alive. I just sat there, cross-legged, watching my mother scribble notes onto pieces of paper.

"MADDIE!" my father boomed from somewhere else in the house. I nearly levitated at the sudden sound. Crashes and bangs filled the quiet air as Dad tripped his way down the stairs from the Ops Center.

He burst into the kitchen with all the grace of a dog on ice. "It's done!" he shouted gleefully as he set the invention onto the table, stepping through me in the process. I floated up off the ground and out of the way. It didn't really hurt when he put his foot through my stomach, but it was really disconcerting.

"What does it do?" Mom asked quietly, picking up the bizarre-looking thing. It looked like a mixture of a blender, a small remote airplane, and the box of miscellaneous wires I never did remember to clean up from the garage. Knowing my dad, it probably _was_ made of those things.

Dad reached over and flicked a switch. Lights burst into life all over the small invention and the two propellers spun into life. "It's an automatic ghost seeker." He pointed to a small opening in the nose of the plane. "It can 'smell' a ghost's ectosignature and then it follows the smell like a hunting dog." Pride colored his voice as he described how it worked. "It can even be programmed to follow a _specific_ ghost."

I wasn't following, but Mom sure seemed to be. She was nodding her head and a grin was growing on her face. "So all we have to do is program in Danny's ectosignature and this will follow him?"

I fell out of the air at this. "What?" I gasped as I pulled myself out of the ground, forgetting that they couldn't hear me.

"Exactly! We just need a copy of his ectosignature…" he trailed off as the lights on the tiny plane began to blink and an odd noise floated through the air. "Look! It's found a ghost. There must be one nearby to trigger it like this." Dad pulled it out of Mom's hands and set it on the table.

I drifted closer and studied it. The whining alarm grew louder.

"The ghost is getting nearer," my dad exclaimed as he pulled a small ectogun out of his belt and began to charge it. Mom followed suit, grabbing the gun she had left on the counter earlier.

"Me?" I asked stupidly, waving my hand through the plane. "Is it me doing it?"

The annoying whine continued to grow and I looked around the kitchen. Mom and Dad were back-to-back, watching the walls and entry points carefully. "Is it me? Answer me!" I screamed, knowing that it really wouldn't do any good.

"It's here," Mom whispered when the alarm suddenly shut off and began to beep in a fingernails-on-chalkboard tone.

All three of us were staring at the outside wall when the ghost popped its head through. I stared at it in amazement as the ghost drifted towards the recyclables, apparently not noticing the two tensed ghost hunters in the room.

"Spook!" Dad bellowed, sending a shot sizzling through the air in front of the specter. "Touch the cardboard and you'll face the fury of a Fenton Ectogun!"

The ghost swiveled and glared at them, raising his hands in a futile attempt to look scary. "Beware!" he shouted, "I am the Box Ghost! I will rescue my cardboard minions for your plastic container of doom!"

Mom wasn't nearly as nice as my dad. She blasted the Box Ghost out of the air and strode up to him as he was attempting to pick himself up off the ground. Mom calmly trained the ectogun on his forehead. "Where is my son?"

At which point the scene disintegrated around me like the static on an old-fashioned television set and I found myself staring blankly at the walls of my cell again.

The ghost light – a lot dimmer than usual – drifted just beyond the end of my blade, slowly retracting that filament of light. I watched as the green flicker began to float upwards, the other lights racing around the first like a miniature carrousel. Apparently, whatever had just happened was extremely exciting for them.

I didn't even question it anymore. I barely even cared if it was real or not. I just laid down on the ground, still in ghost mode, and stared up at them as four of the lights danced and cavorted and the dimmer fifth light slunk from corner to corner. "Thanks," I whispered up at them, "Thank you for letting me see my family one last time."

My eyes fell closed and I lost the battle with sleep. Thankfully, it was dark and dreamless.

* * *

"Get up," the guard snarled as soon as the door slammed open.

I pushed myself off the ground and floated into the air, noting distantly that, yes – I could sleep in ghost mode. Blinking at the guard, I dropped onto my feet and waited for him to say something. Sure enough, he snapped at me and reached towards the shocking control on his belt. "You know you need to be human when we walk through the halls."

A wash of silver light later and my human weight settled onto the souls of my feet. Being human had always been like wearing an old, warm, heavy leather jacket. I told Sam this once and her reaction had been so weird that it had never been mentioned again, but it really was like shrugging into a time-worn jacket. The whole cell dimmed around me as my human eyes struggled to adapt to the darkness of the cell. My human body shivered against the onslaught of sudden cold.

"Let's go," the guard muttered as he held the door open for me. I was immediately surrounded by guards when I stepped through the entrance, but none of them made a move to grab me. _It's a nice change_, I thought as we set off down the dismal corridor, _I'm not being dragged this time_.

Studying the dimly glowing guard to my left, I let a small, tired smile cross my face. The guard would glance at me and then quickly look away. I couldn't tell if he was afraid of me or in awe. Both emotions I could easily picture on his face – and both were equally depressing. He might be afraid I was going to kill him, or he looked up to me like some kind of hero.

I snorted at the thought, causing the guards I could see to flinch and reach towards their remotes. _I'm no hero – not anymore. I'm a murderer._

We were nearly to the door that lead to Former's office when something unusual happened. A rather plain wooden door on the right opened just a crack. The room beyond the door was brightly lit, casting a shadow on the figure that was peering out at us. A Black kid, probably about my age, with odd blue eyes and hair done in patterned cornrows.

"Mica!" one of the guards snapped and the door instantly shut, leaving us alone in the corridor again.

Two doors later, I was herded into Former's office. He looked up at me, studied the way I was standing, and slowly shook his head after the guards left. "I told you before," he said slowly with a sad tone, "I've seen too many people give up before they even go out there to fight." He settled back in his chair. "I know what death looks like."

"So?" I asked softly.

He watched me for a few seconds. "The ghost's name is Shiva. She's got a nasty punch and has won five fights. Rumor says don't stand still and don't mess with her hair."

I nodded absently, picking at the dirt under my overgrown fingernails. I needed to do something about that. But then I realized I wasn't planning on winning this fight and just shrugged the thought away. It wouldn't matter soon.

"It was nice meeting you, Danny Phantom," he said softly as the door to the pit swung open, letting in the sounds of the reveling crowd. "Here's hoping you have a better life in the next one."

"Bye," I whispered, knowing he probably couldn't hear me. I walked out of the book-filled room and strode towards the deadly sands of the pits, my heart slamming in my chest and my breathing loud in my ears, even over the roaring crowd.

* * *

It grew a bit quieter when I actually stepped onto the sand. Glancing up with a tired expression, I noticed a lot of the ghosts in the crowd were quiet and watching me as I walked, unassisted for once, to the starting point. There was an odd tension in the crowd, the whole arena seeming to flutter with a distant vibe. The ghosts were studying me – truly _seeing_ me it felt like – watching me come to a stand still and wait for the inevitable end.

_Ghosts can't die._ I remembered my own naive proclamation ten fights ago. _Ghosts are immortal, there isn't a way to kill them_.

_How many other people thought the same as me? That ghosts couldn't die?_ I let my eyes drop to the ground, trying to relax. _I wonder how many ghosts have forgotten that humans can die?_

A few cheers rose from the crowd and I glanced up. An incredibly tall, female ghost with knee-length red and purple hair was striding into the pit. Her body was pushing the limits of the Pit uniform, stretching the seams as she turned her red eyes on me. Her eyes glittered like rubies lost in a sea of molten lava.

Beyond her, the spectral crowd was leaning forwards, watching the fight, holding their breath. _Do they care?_ My hands had formed themselves into fists, but I forced them to relax. _They're not supposed to be able to. Walker's controlling them. _I closed my eyes for a moment and Walker's visit earlier flooded into my mind. _Unless he's lost his key and he's losing control. Then maybe they'd care._

The shield snapped into life above us and Shiva stormed across the Pit. Her hair flowed around her like fluid fire; crimson lightning danced around her form.

"I'm not going to fight anymore," I whispered into the air. The words felt dead now, devoid of all the life and promise they had held before. I licked my lips, fighting to keep from backing away from the ghost as she neared. "I'm not going to fight anymore," I repeated, but my resolve was cracking and splintering under pressure.

"I'm not going to fight anymore." I closed my eyes tightly, fingers snapping into tight fists at my sides, muscles tensing to keep myself from moving. _This is it. I'm done._

Fabric rustled just beyond my hearing. Lightning crackled and energy fizzled against my hair. Two voices from deep in my mind struggled to get me to listen, clawed at my resolve, tried to get me to move – to fight – to _anything_. I just pushed them away and waited.

Finally I couldn't wait anymore. One eye flickered open, but all I could see was ruby-red energy surrounding a fist inches from my nose. It barely even registered before everything went black.

* * *

_The young woman shifted on the cot, glancing from the notebook up towards the door. "That's it," she said, "the knife has GOT to be the key. That's why Walker is so desperate about getting it back." Setting the notebook on the bench, she limped across the cell and touched the door. Her fingers trailed off to the side of the wood then down a bit, settling on an almost-square brick with a small black dot in the middle. "Would it still…"_

_She dug her broken fingernails into the edges of the rough-hewn stone and worked it out of the wall. It was cold and heavy, but it came. She set the freed stone on the ground and hesitated, staring into the dark hole. Then she slowly reached her fingers in to the hole, feeling around._

_Just as she was about to give up, her fingers closed around a thin piece of cold metal…_

* * *

_Special bonus section:_

Specter spun on her heel, a foot flicking out in a deft snap-kick that sent the pith helmet rolling across the sandy pit floor. She pushed off the ground and zipped up into the air, brushing a few strands of her white hair out of her eyes and focusing on the ghost that had been trying a sneak attack. Rather than continuing with his attack – like she had been expecting – the ghost was chasing after his helmet.

She shook her head in disbelief at the odd ghost before turning her attention back to the other two creatures in the pit with her. The annoying one that looked like he came from a bad war reenactment was cowering behind a large and powerful looking elephant. It was quickly becoming apparent that her initial assessment of the danger this group of ghosts posed had been extremely overrated.

A knife sparkled into existence between her fingers as she stared her opponents down. _The elephant first,_ she decided, relegating the other two ghosts to 'barely worth noticing' for now. The large creature took a step backwards and narrowed its eyes.

Specter attacked silently, swirling out of the sky like a crazy top, slashing at the most sensitive parts of the elephant. Ears were slashed into ribbons, eyes poked and jabbed, trunk sliced and cut. Dropping onto the creature's back, Specter turned around to survey the damage with a small smile. Her attack had been flawless; father would have been proud.

She stood on the elephant's back as it screamed and trumpeted in terror and pain. Gooey ectoplasm splattered from the creature's ripped and torn face, but Specter just continued to smile. She was a ghost hunter – a slayer of the highest quality – and this pathetic excuse for a ghost didn't stand a chance. All spectral creatures would fall before her; none _deserved_ to continue their twisted version of life.

In her hand, the electric knife grew and expanded into a long, heavy sword. She grasped the pommel carefully, angling the blade out before her. The blinded elephant bucked suddenly, but Specter kept her balance, the sword swinging powerfully through the air and slicing through the thick skin of the she-elephant's neck.

Her smile transformed into a horrifying grin as she floated above the evaporating remains of her first opponent. The war general and the safari ghost stared at her in horror, pressing themselves against the walls of the pit. Around them the crowd screamed and hollered in delight.

Specter's sword shrunk into a small throwing blade, delicately balanced with soft engravings on the handle. She had been _designed_ to fight. She had been _created_ to destroy.

These two didn't stand a chance.


	14. Interlude: Fentons

I curled my tail around my feet and cocked my head to the side, studying the boy who was busy breaking off a small piece of his hard bread. Setting it in front of me, the dark skinned boy smiled and took a bite of his own supper. "I got to see him," the boy informed me, his blue eyes sparkling in the flickering ghost light.

I chewed my small bit of bread and didn't bother to ask _who_ he was talking about. The boy only talked about one person recently so I just waited for him to continue.

"He doesn't look nearly as powerful as my brother says he is. He's not much older than me and he's really skinny." He took another bite of his bread and chewed loudly as he talked. "But those blades are neat. Maybe that's how he wins all his fights. I read about those ectoluminum blades and what ghosts can do with them."

I'd personally witnessed the disaster of the ectoluminum blades a few centuries earlier. Those blades, if psychosomatically paired with a powerful ghost, could turn a single ghost into a veritable army. The only smart thing Walker had ever done during his reign as ruler of the Pits was to outlaw ghosts from using those blades.

"You think he'll keep winning? I think he'll set a new record. I bet Eloise – you remember, that ghost with the fire-hair that fixes things? – I bet her a week's worth of kitchen duty that he'd make it past thirty fights."

As the kid kept up his one-sided monologue, I quietly chewed my bread and watched him chatter. Years ago I learned that he liked nothing more than talking to someone who would listen. At first I'd listened to the boy because I felt sorry for him. He had been only four when Walker had dragged him into the Pits and forced his older brother to make a choice: work or both of them would die. Now, however, I let him talk to me for other reasons.

He stuffed the last piece of bread into his mouth. "I also heard Walker's really angry about something, dunno what though. I tried to get Bullet to tell me, but he just told me to shut up and then he called me a tomato. Do you know why Walker's so mad?"

The boy looked at me expectantly for a moment, silent for the first time in a long time, wiping his dirty fingers on the rags that served as clothes. I swallowed my bit of bread. "I think he's lost something."

"Lost something?" His odd blue eyes seemed to glow for a moment as he considered this. "It's gotta be something he really cares about if he's this mad. Walker doesn't really care for much." He ticked things off on his fingers. "The rules, his prison, the Pits, his hat, and his knife, I think. Maybe he's lost his rule book? Nah, he's got at least three copies of that thing. I doubt he's lost his prison _or_ the Pits, so it's either his hat or his knife. And since he's still got his hat – I saw him this morning and he still had it – it's got to be his knife."

Not for the first time, I wondered if the kid wasn't part ghost. I'd always labored under the illusion that humans couldn't talk and breathe at the same time. This kid, however, consistently proved that theory wrong with his constant chatter. I tipped my head to the side, a piece of my mind wondering if humans really did turn blue if they didn't stop to take a breath while talking. It would be interesting to see and it might explain my theory on why some ghosts have blue skin.

He gasped, his eyes widening. "I think Phantom's got the knife."

I blinked at him, startled. The kid was smart for a human, but that leap of logic was pretty far out there. "Why do you think that?" I asked slowly.

"I _told_ you, LJ – I _saw_ him." This time, he accented his words, an annoyed tone in his voice.

I nodded, wrinkling my whiskers. Walker collected humans with unique abilities and this boy was no different. He could _see_ things about ghosts just by looking at them. He had known I wasn't just some dumb rat-ghost the first time he'd found me sneaking around the Pits. He must have seen something about the hybrid that made him think the hybrid had Walker's knife.

"That was pretty smart for him to steal Walker's knife. There's something special about that knife, LJ. I don't know what, but it's something. And Walker's going crazy!" He smiled broadly, glancing around conspiratorially before leaning in and whispering, "_And_ Eloise told me that something is wrong with the Pits too. Attendance is way down and one of the guards apologized to her yesterday. _Apologized_. To _Eloise_. Can you believe that?"

Shaking my head and fighting to keep a happy smile from my face, I stayed quiet as the boy rambled off on a tangent about what he and Eloise had done yesterday… something about cleaning out an elephant stable. I wasn't really listening however. My claws tapped softly on the hard stones and I let a small, proud smile creep out.

My plan was working. Perfect.

* * *

It was quite a while later before I managed to slip out of the kid's room. His older brother had stopped by at one point, rolling his eyes at how the kid was talking to a stupid rat again, but had left again after grabbing something off the small desk and hadn't said a word.

I slid through the quiet corridors, ducking into the shadowed recesses of the Pit wall's many cracks and crevices whenever a pair of guards stormed by. Hidden in the dark corners, I blended in with the rest of the rats and bugs that scuttled over every stone. At one point I ran nose-first into a _real_ rat-ghost, but the greenish animal turned and fled when it saw me. I watched its glowing tail vanish through seemingly solid brick before moving on.

It was, really, due to those creatures that I could move around undetected. Not only were they everywhere and always underfoot, they had created the most unique ways of getting where they wanted to go.

I paused outside the familiar-looking door with the number 143 burned into the wood. Sniffing, I moved slowly across the bottom of the door. At one point, the musky smell of the wood suddenly seemed to disappear. I glanced up and down the deserted hallway once before slipping through the otherwise solid door.

Stepping out of the other side of the door, I focused on the young hybrid for a moment. He was, for a change, awake – but he was just sitting on his bed with an unfocused look in his eye. I crept closer, but he didn't notice. His knees were bent, his arms resting on his knees, those ectoluminum blades glistening in the ghost lights. One of the lights – a small green one – was hovering just at the tip of one of the blades.

What was it doing?

For a few minutes, I stood there, studying the hybrid as annoyance welled up in me. I didn't know what was going on. I'd never seen this happen before. Moreover, I don't like mysteries. Unknown quantities ruin plans and my arrangements could _not_ be ruined. I'd put too much time into my plan for it to be derailed at this point.

I snarled softly, having to give up on the mystery for the time being. I couldn't talk to the hybrid yet, and I strongly doubted the boy knew what was going on anyways. Besides, there were things to be done. Actions to be set in motion. Consequences to be reaped. The young hybrid didn't have a part to play until his next fight – it didn't really hurt for him to sit here and stare at a wall.

But I still hated the mystery. I gave the tiny ghost light a short glare, hoping the emotion-driven thing would feel my wrath, switched my tail sharply against the stones, then headed under the cot towards my portal.

* * *

My beautiful city is both my blessing and my curse. Built thousands of years ago by master craftsmen of both the human and the ghost realms, the city is arranged in sweeping circles with wide broadways and slender, tree-like arches and columns. For hundreds of years, the ancient city had been an odd combination of the best the Ghost Zone and Earth had to offer. Thousands of artisans, songwriters, and inventors flocked to the city to travel to the other realms and see the magnificence of the 'other side'. The city's citizens consisted of normal human and ghosts… and a handful of people like me.

We were called _talented_; humans that had been exposed to too much spectral radiation during critical parts of our development. We could do all sorts of weird and odd things. I had only one real talent: transmogrification. This ability to look however I wanted to stayed with me after my death – thus the rat body I usually inhabited.

I had died during the falling of my city. The weakening of the veil between the human world and the ghost realm vanished, and our entire island city was pulled into this weird version of limbo. Not truly in the human or the ghost worlds – somewhere in between. In one day and one night of fiery explosions and whale-sized tsunamis, my city was thrust into legend, and I am its only remaining Guardian.

Racing through the deserted streets, I jumped easily over the holes and cracks that had developed in the time-worn cobbles. The portal in the hybrid's cell always dumped me on the wrong side of town. I needed to get back to the mirror and as I ran I cursed the fact that I couldn't teleport. If I was right, that idiotic Box Ghost should be making his appearance back in the human world right about now. I wanted to see it.

It was the next step in my plan.

I skidded around the corner next to the Guardian's Temple and ran through an archway to my right and into the temple proper. The mirror was propped up against one wall, its controls spread messily on the cracked mosaic floor. Stopping before I reached the jumbled controls, I scowled for a minute as I thought. The delicate movements needed to hone in on the human world would be a lot easier to do this with human hands.

I'd already done this recently; it should be easier this time. My eyes closed and my claws dug into the cracks of the tiles. Every molecule of my being started to tingle and itch, my fur standing up on its end. It was an agonizing amount of time before the transformation was complete and I was crouched on two human feet again. Panting, I straightened up, took a wobbly step forward, and collapsed gratefully into my place on the floor.

A young, blue-eyed ghost stared back at me in the mirror. Blue streaks cut through my black hair and a small golden seahorse pendant hung at my throat. Simple, white servant's clothes fell around me. My fingers reached out and tapped a beautiful red crystal to my right, causing it to glow. My insubstantial reflection vanished in a wash of colors.

For just a moment I tapped the various crystals splayed out around me like a glittering rainbow. The random colors flickered and vanished, leaving me with a static-filled and jumpy image of a metal-lined room. I scowled at the unfocused image, but there really wasn't anything I could do. The ghost lights that were giving me the images gained energy from emotions and there wasn't enough energy in the air on the sending side to power the tiny spirits.

Finally, the three colorful blobs dissolved into human-like images. One was that woman dressed in blue, another an overly-large man in sunset orange, the last a familiar-looking paunchy ghost with a well-known and rather unhealthy obsession for all things cardboard and square.

The blue-garbed woman stood before the glowing container, staring in at her captive with a grim look on her face. "Where is my son?" Her voice came through the connection weak and garbled, but understandable.

The Box Ghost didn't seem to answer. It just folded its arms and pouted.

I watched the silent standoff, a small smile forming on my face. My plan was going much more smoothly than I had hoped. This woman, a fierce ghost hunter by most accounts, would retrieve the necessary information from her prisoner. It would take a while for her to get a rescue team together and discover how to access the Pits and that would give me ample time to throw the next phase of my plan into motion.

Soon, the young hybrid would fall apart and I would sweep in to pick up the pieces. He already had the key, and most likely had some knowledge of the location of the three portals the key could open. The rebels were getting into place and gaining strength and the warden was losing his innate control of the lair after the loss of his key.

Everything was going as planned. I let a small laugh trickle out of my mouth. Everything was perfect.

Then something unexpected happened, tossing my carefully created plan out the window.

And all I could do was sit there and stare.

* * *

Maddie had the small ectogun trained on the newest intruder. Shrouded in a deep green cloak, the figure was holding perfectly still. She knew it had to be some kind of ghost – not merely because it had just stepped out of the Ghost Zone. The rough edges of the cape dangled nearly a foot off the ground and no feet were visible. Whatever was hidden in the shadows was floating. 

Beside her, Jack had stumbled to his feet, a beat behind his wife. The much larger bazooka was now resting firmly on his shoulder and had locked in on the specter. "Ghost!" he bellowed unnecessarily.

Maddie took a deep breath as the chill presence of the ghost suddenly swept through the room, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. With a snarl, she fought back the fear that was trying to creep into her mind. Her weapon wavered for a moment. "Ghost," she cursed softly, "show yourself."

The ghost moved slowly, one silvery hand appearing from the shadows. Both the Fentons tensed, but the figure made no move to attack them. Slowly, it reached up for its hood and pushed it back, revealing its face. The man facing them had metallic skin, an evil twist to his mouth, and fierce green eyes. Maddie's eyes narrowed – this was the same hunter ghost they had seen numerous times hunting their _son_.

Then, to the confusion of both the humans, the ghost raised his other hand and held them both in the air over his head in surrender.

"What do you want," Maddie hissed. The freezing hand clawing at her guts was making her nervous. Her finger crept closer to the trigger. This _thing_ was not to be trusted.

"I am Skulker, the Ghost Zone's Greatest Predator," he proclaimed. His voice was an odd combination of a metallic twang and the distant echo of ghost's speech.

"We knew that," Jack muttered, "but what do you want?"

The ghost shot them an annoyed look. "I was here to tell you of the whereabouts of the whelp, but if you don't want to know I'll leave."

"Whelp?" Maddie and Jack exchanged a quick glance, neither willing to take their eyes off the specter floating in their basement for long.

Skulker waited a beat before answering. Both the human's guns were still pointed at him – one wrong move could get his suit destroyed and set the entire rebellion weeks behind schedule. "The whelp. Your son. Phantom."

Her fingers tensed at Danny's name, her finger brushing against the trigger. A blast of emerald energy flared out of the gun and nicked the ghost's shoulder. "Where is my son?" she snapped, fear and anger surging through her. "What have you done with him?"

"I have done nothing to him," the ghost retorted heatedly as the sudden surge of human emotions flooded through him. He let his arms drop. "I was _trying_ to help."

Maddie took a step forwards, Jack moving with her, and the gun focused on the ghost's eyes. Skulker's presence was draining, but if he really knew something of her son… "Where is my son?" she asked again, quieter.

Skulker stared into her eyes, watching as Maddie shivered and fought to keep from taking a step backwards. "I am part of a rebellion that has been brewing for a few years," the ghost began. "There is a place in the Ghost Zone that is being used to torture and execute people. It is a slaughterhouse created for the enjoyment of spectators."

"You're a ghost hunter," Jack asked with confusion in his eyes, "you hunt and kill things all the time. Why do you care?"

"There is a difference between a hunter and a murderer," the ghost said irritably. "I do not slaughter mercilessly and needlessly, I _hunt_. The creation of the Pits and its purpose is immoral and gives true predators like myself a bad name. Thousands of ghosts have died." He glared at them coldly for a moment. "In Walker's Pits, ghosts and humans alike are forced into an arena, where they must fight until one is dead."

He shook his head sourly. "For many years, the rebellion has been planning on destroying the Pits once and for all, but we needed a ghost powerful enough to fight Walker and his deputies. After we heard that your son was targeted, I tried to catch him and bring him to the rebellion for protection and to get his help, but I failed and he vanished before I could do anything. Now our best hope at getting rid of that monstrosity is locked within its very walls. We can't get anyone out."

Maddie's hand was trembling, the sight of the gun jumping all over the ghost's slivery face. "Where is my son?" She didn't want to hear the answer she knew was going to come out of the specter's mouth.

Skulker met her gaze for the second time. She took an instinctive step backwards at the cold and uncaring soul that stared into her eyes. This ghost might be here, willing to help, willing to give out information… but it was clear that he was here for his own purposes. Maddie and Jack were nothing more than pawns to this great ghost predator. He cared nothing for them beyond their potential use. "He is trapped in the Pits."

As Maddie's world shattered into a million pieces, the Box Ghost, still trapped in the ghost shield behind them, chortled.

* * *

I glared at the mirror and crossed my arms. "Stupid rebels," I muttered. My carefully laid plans were broken… _again_. Before, I'd actually had to _help_ those incompetent ghost hunters get that hybrid into the Pits. This was another bump in the road. Skulker had moved faster than I had figured he would. 

Tapping my fingers against my knee, I contemplated what I should do next. On the mirror, the green-cloaked rebel vanished back through the portal, leaving the hybrid's parents sitting on chairs, apparently stunned. They would try and rescue their son as soon as possible.

I grimaced. I couldn't have _that_. It took years of planning to get the something into Walker's Pits powerful enough to destroy them, and I wasn't going to just let all my plans disintegrate. He could _not_ be rescued before he played his part.

"There's really only one thing I can do," I said to myself, reaching out to tap the crystalline controls and seeing the faces of Walker's victims flicker past on the screen. Human or ghost, the cruelty of Walker's Pits showed in their eyes.

Crazy.

Angry.

Miserable.

It was all there and it tore at me. The pride and joy of my beautiful city… reduced to _that_.

"I'm going to have to step up my plans." I bit my lip, thinking about it. It really wasn't perfect, but I was out of time. I needed to talk to the young hybrid and move on with the plan. I nodded slowly as I convinced myself that it was the right thing to do.

The screen flickered suddenly to a new ghost light when I thought about the young hybrid. He was kneeling in the middle of the pit with an extremely curvaceous female ghost stalking towards him. My forehead furrowed as I watched, trying to figure out the hybrid's plan.

The ghost got closer; the boy merely closed his eyes and didn't move.

I got slowly to my feet, watching the screen with a mingling sense of doom and panic. "What? No!" My voice barely came out of my throat. I stared at the mirror as horror flooded through me. _The boy had given up. I was too late._

The female ghost's fist blazed with energy and flew through the air towards the defenseless hybrid.

"NO!" I screamed, my voice echoing off nearly buildings as the rest of my finely crafted plan crumbled into dust.

* * *

_"No," the young woman whispered as she read. Her eyes were glistening with tears. "Did he die? He had to have lived, right? If he wrote in the journal…"_

_She hesitated, flipping back towards the cover and rereading it. "He started this journal two weeks into this imprisonment. That's fourteen days – fourteen fights – and I've only read about ten of those, so he had to have lived through this one."_

_Setting the notebook carefully on the ground, she got up and limped around the room, starting at the damage the boy had done during his stay. It was still easily visible. The door was singed, the rocks blackened in places. "This was his room," she murmured and furrowed her forehead. "He was here. He lived here, and he died here. Well, I assume he's dead since he left his notebook behind."_

_With no answers coming from the deserted room, the young woman paced. "Or perhaps he escaped. If he did that, maybe I can do it too if I could put the clues together. What do I know?"_

_"There are three portals – one that leads to the human world, the one I want. To get through it I'm going to have to unlock it somehow, unless it's unlocked already for some reason. I need some kind of key…" she trailed off as the thoughts congealed in her head. "The knife is the key. I know that already."_

_She looked down at the knife she held clenched in her fist. Rusty and bloody, the knife glinted dully in the ghost lights. "But what's the point of having it if I don't know where any portals are?" She twisted the knife back and forth. "Besides, I can't get out of this room."_

_Her eyes widened in excitement. She grabbed the book, flipping through the pages until she found the rat's second installment and scanned it. "LJ used the knife to get through the door," she looked up, "that door. The key can open _any_ lock."_

_Now all she needed to do was get up the courage to go and try it._

_She stared at the door for a moment before turning to pick up the notebook and continuing to read…_


	15. Page 11

The next thing I knew, I was back in my cell. "No!" I yelled, yanking at my black hair, tears springing into my eyes at the pain. "No, no, no, no, no!"

I spun around, taking in the dreary stone walls, the ghost spiders crawling in the corners, the blackened cell door, the skittering ghost lights, and the battered (and still broken) cot. I screamed as loudly as I could, dropping down to my knees. Power built up inside of me and cascaded into my voice even though I was human, spectral energy blazing outwards and echoing around the tiny cell.

Finally, completely spent, my head dropped down and my stomach felt like it fallen through the floor. "I don't want to do this," I whispered hoarsely. "I don't want to do this anymore. Why can't it just be over?"

A voice whispered through the cell. "You have to fight again."

I shook my head sourly, not really questioning where the voice was coming from. It made an odd sort of sense: something had stopped me from dying in that fight, and now it wanted to talk. "No, I don't."

"You _have_ to fight," the voice reaffirmed. "There's nothing left for you to do."

I looked up. Sitting on the shattered remains of the cot Walker had destroyed yesterday was that small black rat. Its bright blue gaze fixed on mine, an odd look in its eyes. It was stupid to think the rat had been the one that had talked, but I asked it a question anyways. "Why?"

"Simple. Walker's power comes from people giving in to him, and he loses power when people fight him." The rat's mouth was moving, the words coming, but my brain really couldn't comprehend the fact that the rat was talking. "You need to fight; there isn't anybody else powerful enough to do what needs to be done. Besides, what other option do you really have? You seem to fight even if you don't want to."

Gazing at him morosely, I just shook my head and sat on the cold floor. For the moment, I couldn't dredge up anything but the depressing feeling of complete failure.

"And now that I'm here to help you," the rat continued, "we can do this." It was extremely odd to see a rat smile. "My name, as you may know, is L'Jai."

I blinked at it, unable to come up with an answer. Distantly, I remembered the hallucinated rat that had brought me chicken soup. That, however, had been _not real_ in a sense. This… this was something different. It couldn't be possible that the ghost was really here, however it seemed hard to believe that I was still hallucinating.

The rat jumped off the cot and scampered over to me, resting its front paws on my knee. "It's long past time that we talked, hybrid. I was afraid you were going to lose your fight. Everything we've been working towards would have been for naught."

"I don't want to fight anymore," I rasped, staring down at my fingers. I couldn't remember the fight with Shiva, but I had no doubt that the ghost was dead. Dead because of _me_.

"You have to…"

"I _know_ I have to," I snapped, "I just _don't want to anymore_. I'm sick of killing, I'm sick of fighting, I'm sick of all of this!" I jumped to my feet and gestured around the small cell, uncaring as the small black rat squeaked and backed away from me. "I've been stuck in a prison cell, being fed almost _nothing_ for _five weeks_. I'm _bored_ and I'm _tired_ and I'm _sick_ and I'm _hungry_ and I'm _alone_ and I'm _scared _and all I want is for this to be _over _and _I can't even do that!_" Running my hands through my hair, I sighed. "Can you get that, rat? I just want this to be done."

The rat's voice was soft. "At the expense of your life?"

My shoulders slumped. "Do you have a better idea?"

"Freedom. Rescue. A chance to go home."

I stared down at my toes and didn't answer. How would you feel, reader, if someone just suddenly showed up out of nowhere to give you a ticket out of Hell? More than likely you'd feel the same way as me: it's too good to be true.

But I wasn't cynical or gone enough to not hope. A tiny piece of my heart jumped at the thought of being free and desperately wanted to trust the small rat with the glowing blue eyes. "How?" I asked, my voice raw and untrusting.

A cold paw touched my leg and I glanced into the eyes of the rat. "You need to have faith, hybrid."

"Faith in what?" I spat back, my eyes narrowing.

"Faith in the fact that everything will be better. Rescue is coming. _Hope_ is coming." It blinked up at me. "You can't die yet. There's a rebellion brewing. Pieces are in motion. We can destroy _everything_; not just Walker, not just ruin a few fights, but everything the Pits stands for and is."

"Those are fancy words for a rodent," I whispered. I pulled my foot away from its paw and turned around to stalk to across my small cell. "Prove it."

" Walker lost his knife. We gave it to you."

I froze, staring at the wall. _Maybe he's telling the truth…_ I viciously squashed the thought and started counting the bricks to keep the thoughts out of my head. _One, two, three…_

"His knife is the key to the Pits. You can open any door with it, you know. Even the one keeping you in this room."

_Seven, eight, nine…_ My eyes flashed to the lose brick next to the door where I'd hidden Walker's bloody knife. _Seriously? I could… No. Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen…_

"You can leave this room with it, no problem, but you'll never escape the Pits. Not on your own. There are too many guards for you to fight, too many people in the way, too many things holding you back."

I listened, staring blankly at the wall, unable to count anymore. Could it be that the rat really was offering this to me? Could this be my chance to be free?

"Work _with_ me, hybrid. I can teach you to use those blades. I can teach you skills that have been lost for centuries. I can make you powerful enough to have the chance to escape, and I can get you the allies you need to destroy this place and be free of it forever."

My breath was loud in my throat, my over-long black hair dangling in my eyes, my fingernails cutting painfully into my skin. _Can I trust a rat?_

"Stay and wait, live and fight. You've got the key to your freedom, now let me give you the means."

_Can you afford to not trust him_? a voice whispered in my mind.

I shut my eyes, thinking. This seemed too elaborate for one of Walker's traps. Why would he go through all of this just to trick me? Add that on top of the fact that I had nothing left to lose and no real plan on how to survive this place, and the answer was staring me straight in the face. I was going to trust a rat. "Fine," I said.

Nobody answered. I twisted around, studying the messy remains of my cot and the rest of my empty, dreary cell. I groaned. Nothing was there.

Was I hallucinating again?

* * *

I've gotten used to sleeping on hard surfaces and, to be honest, the 'cot' hadn't been much more comfortable than the floor. It took awhile, but I fell asleep. My dreams twinkled in my mind like distant stars, cold and bright, as I tumbled into the pits of my nightmares.

Shiva's fist was right in front of me, split seconds from slamming into my head and potentially spilling my ectoplasmic brains all over the ground. Her knuckles crashed into a glowing green shield that sprang up, unbidden, right before my nose. Her attack was so close that I could hear the faint crack of splintering bones as her hand collided with the unmoving, crackling barrier.

My body was moving. Instantly backpedaling away from the insane female, my hands came up into a defensive block. The sparkling blades glittered in the glaring lights of the arena and the screams and laughter of the crowd watching our battle seemed to fade away. My eyes flashed upwards and around me for the moment of peace that I had, catching sight of four ghosts in long, green cloaks. But I couldn't hesitate to watch them; Shiva was moving.

Adrenaline coursed through me, heightening my reflexes and making everything crystal clear. Shiva shook her hand even as she stalked after me, her eyes flashing and flaring with an internal fire. "Phantom," she hissed, her words smoldering.

Suddenly she attacked again, her fists flying. My body ducked, arms coming up to block her wild jabs. One fist snuck through my guard and smashed into my shoulder. Holding back a moan of pain, my body rolled backwards using the momentum of her punch and I was back on my feet. Shiva was right there, flame-red hair burning into my face.

But everything had changed.

It wasn't Shiva, it was Neilson whose brown eyes were glowering at me. I glanced over to see the human's swiping attack at my neck had been blocked by my own blade. He backed away from me, his expression careful and focused as he studied me, circling around me, his tightly controlled emotions rolling through me as a dizzying concoction. His human movements were slow and heavy compared to a ghost's. He was no match for me.

The crowd agreed, although they didn't voice it. No, they were totally silent, staring at the battle, feeding off of the acute terror this one human male was generating. They were all focused intently on Neilson – except for a figure dressed in a green, who was studying me almost as closely as Neilson was.

I jerked my mind back to my fight when Neilson moved. He came at me, his blades cutting in a high arc. My body ducked and slipped off to the right, Neilson's blades slicing through the air next to my head. I kept moving, twirling easily in the bloody muck of the ground, catching Neilson's legs with an outstretched foot. He collapsed to the ground, already rolling to get back on his feet.

I pushed myself forwards, my body following his with a dogged determination. I sliced through the air, my blade slipping through the skin on his back. It wasn't very deep, but the sensation that slammed into my head was impossible to describe. I could _feel_ it as my blade cut into him. His body was warm and wet. It was a horribly tantalizing feeling.

He bit back a scream and staggered to his feet. Brown eyes gazed hatefully into my own green ones. "Stupid ghost," he spat, "capturing me and throwing me into here to die. I'm going to kill you and everything like you!"

I wanted to tell him it wasn't my fault. I wanted to explain that I was here against my will as well, but my body wouldn't follow my own commands. All I could do was watch as he slid gracefully forwards, his own martial arts skills obvious in his every movement. His body came right up to mine, under my guard, his blades coming around to slice me in two.

I moved first. One blade went down to my side, up and back, then forwards.

Right through his chest.

I blinked, wanting to scream in horror. Terror yanked at me as I stared into his rage- and agony-filled eyes. It bubbled up in me, but I couldn't do a thing. I could just stare.

And then everything changed again.

The person pressed up against me wasn't Neilson… it was a little girl in a dirty blue dress. The eyes gazing at me weren't full of rage and pain; they were those two gleaming orbs that had been so trusting and calm. Not anymore: the girl who had been clinging to my leg in the hopes of freedom now had eyes that could stare with nothing but death. Her warm hands, clutching my pants so tightly, were loosening their grip. Quiet drops of blood slipped through her hair and down onto the ground.

Almost in slow motion, I watched her collapse beside me. The noise of the crowd was gathering momentum as I stared at the slowly expanding pool of blood. Most of the ghosts were cheering, shrieking, partying with joy at the sight and the feelings this killing had brought them. Only a small handful, dressed in green, weren't.

I couldn't tear my eyes off of her, barely noticing as a tiny flicker of blue light coalesced in the air just over her body. I just blinked in dazed shock as the light vanished off into the depths of the pit. My body wasn't my own, I couldn't move. I wanted to scream and run and fight and do _anything_… but I couldn't.

"Danny," a familiar voice whispered, but I couldn't turn my head. The girl, Rose, was dead and it was my fault.

"It's my fault," I rasped, feeling my body begin to tremble, even as the barely-remembered guards stalked towards me. I turned my head, looking off to the side, straight into the eyes of Ember. She smiled vaguely, reaching up a hand to touch my shoulder. "I remember," I whispered, "and it's my fault."

Her hand dropped back to her side and she shook her head. "Please don't die on us, Danny. Listen to what the rat has to say. We can get out of this."

The guards grabbed my roughly and twisted my arms painfully behind my back, not apparently noticing my companion at all. I didn't resist; all I could do was picture the beautiful eyes of the girl as they slowly drained of life.

"The green ghosts," Ember said before she dissolved away and left me to my nightmares, "they're the rebellion, I think. Remember."

"Remember," I murmured in a daze, half-singing. "You will remember…"

_Let go of me!_

I glanced to the side in my dream, looking into the blank faces of the guards. "Who…" I whispered.

_STUPID GHOST!_

The ground suddenly vanished from underneath me and I fell into an endless expanse of light, my nightmare vanishing in a flash of green.

* * *

My eyes opened, my mind only half awake. I couldn't figure out what had woken me up, but I was definitely awake for a reason, the vague haze of my dreams floating in the back of my mind. I stared up at the flickering, sleepy ghost lights for a few breathless moments.

Then it happened again. A voice echoed through the hallway outside my door.

The fact that I could hear a voice wasn't unusual – my door is far from soundproof and I'd grown accustomed to the screams and wails of the condemned as they were dragged past – what had woken me up is the fact that this voice was _familiar_.

"Let go of me!" the voice screamed. I listened carefully, trying to place it. Female. Terrified, but overlaid with fury. Human.

Listening to her struggle and scream as she was marched past my door, I didn't move from my bed. There wasn't anything I could do but listen. It was driving me nuts that I couldn't figure out who the voice belonged to. But it was definitely someone I knew. Her name tingled at the tip of my tongue.

"Stupid ghost_, let GO_!" the female's voice shrieked one last time, reverberating darkly in the broken hallway.

Then all was silent. Blinking blearily at the ceiling, I couldn't get my mind to work. I couldn't place the voice, I couldn't remember what my dream had been about, and I couldn't decide if I wanted to wake up or go back to sleep.

With a yawn, I chose sleep.

* * *

I woke up with tears in my eyes. Over and over, I had been living through each one of my fights in my nightmares, watching in horrified fascination as one after another died at my hands. Died on my blades.

Each time, I had pushed farther away from the thought of killing again, of fighting again. With each death, Ember had been there, sometimes melting into Phantom, sometimes just staying as the spectral rock star. Each time she had said that it was okay, that everything would be fine, that I was doing the right thing.

I still couldn't decide whether or not I hated the fact that I was starting to believe her. Him. _Me_.

Pushing myself to my feet and sending my own mental dilemmas out of my mind, I walked quietly over to the door and listened to what was going on in the hallway in the half-hope that I would hear that strangely familiar voice again. I just knew that if I could hear it again, I'd be able to place it. If nothing else, I could usually hear the moaning and screaming of my neighbors if I tried, but there was nothing to greet my ears. I was about to turn around when my gaze caught on the lose stone next to the door. "What could it hurt?" I whispered to myself.

I dug my fingers into the sides of the stone and pried it out of its spot, carefully digging through the tiny hole for the cold metal of the knife. My fingers wrapped around the freezing hilt and pulled, the bloody blade sparkling in the light given off by the six ghost lights that danced around my cell.

With the heavy object in my hand, I reached forwards, touching the door with my outstretched fingertips. If that rat – LJ – was right, I had the key to leave. I should be able to get the door open. "The question is how?" I breathed, brushing the fingers of the hand not holding the knife over the scorched wood that made up the thick door. There wasn't a handle, there weren't hinges, there wasn't any place for my fingers to grasp.

My other hand came forwards with the vague thought that maybe I could get my fingers between the door and the frame. The edge of the knife just barely touched the door and a loud _clunk_ echoed through my room. I jerked my hands away from the wood, backing up a half-step at the sound of the giant lock turning.

Slowly, the door creaked and swung towards me. I could barely breathe, my eyes flickering from the knife in my hands to the opening door. What if Walker was opening the door? I was sure that the torture I had been through would be _nothing_ compared to what would be coming. I couldn't let anyone see the fact that I had Walker's knife.

I slid the knife behind my back as I waited. But the door just stayed where it was, a few inches open.

"Hello?" I finally got up the nerve to whisper after some long, tense seconds.

Nobody answered.

I walked forwards, gently wrapping my fingers around the edge of the door and pulling it open the rest of the way. The dark and dank corridor met my gaze. It was empty.

Staring down at the knife in my hands, I felt a small sense of wonderment filling me. The rat had been right – I had the key to the kingdom sitting in the palm of my hands. I glanced down the hallway in both directions, feeling the smile tugging at my lips. Freedom was somewhere out there.

I took a few steps forwards, my eyes bright with possibilities. I was _free_.

The rat's words echoed in my mind. _"You can leave this room with it, no problem, but you'll never escape the Pits. Not on your own. There are too many guards for you to fight, too many people in the way, too many things holding you back."_ My feet hesitated and I licked my lips. _"Stay and wait, live and fight."_

The knife was heavy in my hand as I waited. I wanted to run more than anything, I wanted to be free and away from this place. No more fights, no more killing, no more of _anything_… but something held me back.

"_We can destroy everything: not just Walker, not just ruin a few fights, but everything the Pits stands for and is. Stay and fight."_

Endless rows of doors met my gaze as I studied the way out of this Hell-hole. Hundreds of ghosts and humans awaited their deaths beyond those heavy, blood-smeared doors. I would have to walk past all them to get my freedom, letting them stay and be murdered.

I turned around to go the other way, wanting to leave but not being able to face all that death. The corridor stretched beyond my view in the other direction, lined with doors, filled with prisoners. Filled with innocent victims heading to the slaughter.

_"Stay and fight._"

With a muffled cry, I stormed back through the door (which now had a lovely nine painted on it) and slammed it shut behind me. For the moment, I was here partly on my own terms.

And that made everything worse.

* * *

When I was 'escorted' into Former's office some time later, I was still torn inside about my choice to stay. I knew, in my head, that I really didn't have a chance of escaping, even with the key in my hand. I would have been capture, tortured, and Walker would have gotten his knife back in short order. I wasn't in any shape to be facing down the whole of Walker's guard. But I hadn't even _tried_… and that rankled deep in my mind.

"I'm officially impressed," Former said, his caramel eyes glowing warmly as he watched me stalk into his room. "I've never been wrong about someone giving up before."

I glanced up at him, trying to find a smile to send back to my friend. That thought made me pause. _Friend?_ _When did get become my friend?_

"You must have something special in you," he continued softly, running his finger lightly over his book. "But I hope it's enough for this one. This fight isn't going to be much fun."

Silver light played over me as I switched to ghost mode. "Why not?" I asked.

"The ghost has got a record of fifteen wins. It's a unique ghost." Former hesitated. "Its name is Mimic and its style is just like its name. It fights by disguising itself as its opponent." He sent me a faint smile. "In essence, you'll be fighting yourself – your own strengths, your own weaknesses."

I breathed out slowly, blinking quietly, not really taking in what he was saying. My mind was still trapped in circles; mysteries were piling on top of mysteries and the clues weren't revealing themselves nearly fast enough. "Have you ever heard of a rat named LJ?" I asked suddenly, surprising both myself and Former at the bizarre question.

"A rat?" the young man answered, leaning back in his chair for a second. I could have sworn that a flash of something in his eyes, but he shook his head. "There are plenty of rats in the Pits. I don't know if they have names or not."

"How about a rebellion?" I fixed my eyes on him, trying to pry the answers out of his mind. "A bunch of ghosts dressed in green?"

He shook his head again. "I explained this to you before. There can't _be_ a rebellion. Walker's got his key, which controls the Pits, which controls how everyone thinks. _Nobody thinks this is wrong_. There can't be a rebellion if everyone is okay with this."

My breath hitched in my throat for a second as a few pieces of the puzzle suddenly righted themselves and snapped together in my head. A smile grew on my face at the amazed thought that was germinating in my head. "What if he didn't have his key anymore?"

I wasn't sure I actually spoken the question aloud, but Former was staring at me and blinking like I'd just grown a second head. "That's…"

The doors to the Pits slammed open and Former cut off whatever he was going to say. He gazed at me for a long second before tipping his head to the side and looking up at the guards that were stalking into the room. "Mimic. Pit three."

They reached for me, but I turned and walked ahead of them.

It was, kind of, my _choice_ to be here now. I could walk myself.

* * *

I slipped into a crouch, staring around the darkened recesses of the pit. For the first time, I was sort of… _comfortable_ with my surroundings. I knew what I was doing and I knew what the outcome was going to be. I was going to fight. I was going to win.

A movement off to my left caused me to spin, searching the shadows for my opponent. Just for a moment I thought I saw bloody-red eyes staring into mine. An explosion of impossibly bright light slammed into me, forcing me to close my eyes for a moment. When I opened them up, the ghost – I assumed it was Mimic – was crouched in front of me.

The ghost was extremely thin and dirty, with a haunted expression and hollow cheeks. His too-long white hair was matted and hung into his sunken green eyes, and his black clothes hung off of him like rags. Two thin, star-silver blades extended from his arms like rapiers. He fixed his eyes on me, a small grin flickering across his pale face. "Hello," he rasped.

_Mimic, _Former's voice whispered in my head, _it fights by disguising itself as its opponent. You'll be fighting yourself – your own strengths, your own weaknesses._

This half-dead creature in front of me was… _me_. I grimaced. "I look horrible."

He chuckled morosely. "Yes. Are you prepared to die today?"

_What kind of question is that?_ I wondered sourly. "No, can we do this tomorrow instead?"

His chuckle grew into a soft laugh. "It's too bad I have to kill you – you are humorous." His eyes seemed to glaze over for a moment. "And you are powerful," he whispered, "so very powerful." Standing up, he focused back on me. "Now, you will die."

I took a small step backwards. Cold indifference seemed to flood off of him and fill the small, dark arena. He was totally, absolutely sure of his words. There wasn't a thought in his mind that I would survive this fight.

Unfortunately for him, I had similar thoughts going through my head. My small step backwards hadn't really been a retreat, it had been a simple move to spread my legs and create a wider base. I watched his –_my_– eyes flash with delight at my apparent show of cowardice… then I attacked.

My blade slid through the air as I whirled and slammed into his blades. The haunting sound of the star-silver metal clashing together shrieked above the excited screams of the crowd. He backpedaled for a moment, his blades coming up into a simple block, then he slipped forwards, one blade coming at me to cut my legs out from under me.

I leapt into the air and away from the whipping slice of his blade. Steadying myself, I twisted my backwards leap into forward momentum without ever touching the ground. I blasted past him, managing to get in two swipes of my blades before I was out of reach. Both attacks had been easily blocked.

"Come on, you have to be faster than _that_," Mimic hissed, his eyes laughing at me through the shadows of the pit.

My own eyes narrowed slightly and I raised a hand, snaring energy out the air and coiling it together around my fingertips. It glowed as I condensed it into a sharp blast before I purposefully pushed it up and into the blade that was sparkling on my arm.

_Muerto squinted at me over the intense glow of the blades. A thrust… and everything exploded. Energy more powerful than anything I'd ever felt slammed through me._

I remembered very well what had happened the last time I did this. My hope was that Mimic – although he could probably copy the ability – wouldn't know what was coming.

Breath hissed out from between my teeth as I released the power that was tickling and coursing in my arms. It blazed, pure energy, and flashed across the dark pit. The explosion rocked the entire place, the blood-soaked ground tearing apart and flinging bits of the mud in every direction, the crowd falling into a stunned silence. Blinking stars out of my eyes, I searched the muck-splattered pit for any sign of my opponent.

He wasn't even hurt. Mimic was floating a few inches off the ground, turning himself intangible to rid himself of the bloody mud that had flown up and covered him during the explosion. His black clothes were steaming, his hair singed. But, as he looked up at me with his eyes glowing with power, I knew that the attack hadn't done very much more than that.

I waited, panting a little. Mimic was a match for me blow for blow, swipe for swipe, power for power. Nothing I had tried would be able to come close to being able to stop him. Continuing with the same kind of attacks was pointless – we were too closely matched. He just dropped back to the ground, pacing back and forth, the blades sparkling in the lights, his –_my_– green eyes gazing at me in calm fury.

Suddenly, Mimic blew towards me, slicing open my arm before I could dodge. I scrambled backwards, holding my arm. Cold ectoplasm dripped off the end of my numb fingers. Mimic just went back to pacing with a small grin on his face, my head turning to keep him in view.

"Quick, powerful," the ghost commended. "A perfect fighter. I will miss this body."

I needed to try something else. I needed a plan. My mind threw thoughts left and right as it searched for an answer, but I was drawing a horrifying blank. It seemed as though _anything_ I could pull out of my hat, he could counter. He was as strong as me, as fast as me, and a lot more ruthless. He could do everything I could do.

He faked to the left, then slashed out with a blade in an attempt to take out my leg. I danced out of the way, still holding my screaming arm, swearing under my breath.

I needed help, or a _really_ good idea… or I was going to die with this fight.

My eyes scanned the pit reflexively, watching Mimic prowl. Nobody was around – nobody could help. What ghost would be in the pit with us?

_A flicker of blue, flaming hair_.

I did a double-take. _Ember?_ I focused on the crowd, searching for her. I finally found the hair, but it wasn't attached to Ember. It was some nameless face.

Sand slithered. My head jerked down to see Mimic blasting towards me. I knew in a flash that I wouldn't be able to dodge or block this. I hadn't seen it in time.

_Ember…_

Everything froze.

* * *

The pit was still. Mimic, still looking eerily like me, was hanging in space. Underneath of him, lounging against the rough-hewn boards that made up the sides of the pit, was Ember. "Hiya, dipstick… again."

"Can we drop the act?" I asked. "Deranged bits of my personality that haunt nightmares and fight battles for me really shouldn't be dressing as female rock stars."

Ember grinned and her body flowed and changed into the more familiar form of Phantom. "Deranged?" he asked. "You're the one that almost got yourself killed a few times now. That doesn't sound entirely sane to _me_." His smile faded and he walked forwards to stare up at Mimic. "He looks…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "So, how's it going?"

I folded my arms and slid to the ground. "I'm a split-second from dying, if I haven't already, and I'm talking to myself in my own head. I just don't know how I can beat _myself._"

He glanced at me, his smile flickering back into place. "_Are_ you yourself?"

"What?" I groused darkly, "Now's not really the time for mind games."

Phantom chuckled. "Sorry, it's just not very often that I get to play 'Jazz'. I'm just wondering if you're trying as hard as you could."

I shook my head quietly, sitting in the silence for a few moments. "I don't know what else to do," I confessed quietly. "I'm fighting a ghost that can beat anything I can throw at it." A small, hysterical giggle slipped out of my lips and I buried my head in my hands. "Here I am, talking to _myself_, trying to figure out how to beat… _myself_. This _can't_ get any more _insane._"

"Well, I see two problems with your logic." Phantom crossed his legs and settled for sitting in the air rather than on the muddy ground. "The first is that you _do_ know what to do… because I do. And I'm you." He drifted a little closer. "You actually know exactly what you _need_, you just need to figure out how to ask."

I glanced up at him dubiously, not knowing what he meant. "And the second?"

A soft chuckle drifted through the air from behind me. "That would be the 'can't get more insane' part." Dan shimmered into view, settling onto the ground next to me.

I sighed, burying my head into my arms and groaning. There was me, my 'hero' side in Phantom, my 'evil' side in Dan, and the Mimic copy of my hanging frozen in the air. Somewhere, someone was laughing at me. This whole _mess_ was going to take years of therapy to get over if I somehow managed to survive this. "Now what," I muttered, "I'm going to die."

"You need to figure out what you _need_ to win," Phantom said easily.

"I need _help_," I said darkly. "But there is a distinct lack of other ghosts in the pit to help me."

Phantom arched an eyebrow, rapping me on the head with his knuckles. "There are _no_ other ghosts in the pit right now? You look around and see _nobody_ else?"

"Nobody that's not _me_ in some form or another," I said, looking up. "And I'm already fighting!"

Green eyes gazed into mine. "Have we been helping you fight?" He blinked at me for a few seconds before drifting backwards and settling onto the ground.

"Yes…" I trailed off, staring at him. In his eyes, I saw the joy of fighting: being able to protect others, the adrenaline rush, the warm fuzzy feeling of knowing you've done the right thing. I'd come to grips with having to fight to survive, but the joy of the fight hadn't been there. Quietly I glanced over at Dan, wincing away from the maniacal glitter of murder in his eyes. I wasn't fighting with the desire to destroy my opponent. "No…" I whispered. "I know I _have_ to fight, but I still don't want to. I don't want to fight. I don't want to kill."

They hadn't been helping me fight. I'd kept them locked away deep inside of me. But now… I twisted my head to gaze up at the deranged expression on Mimic's frozen form.

"_We can destroy everything: not just Walker, not just ruin a few fights, but everything the Pits stands for and is. Stay and fight."_

Hundreds of lives hung in the balance. Thousands, maybe. "I need help," I finally said softly. "I need _your_ help."

"Can you accept us?" Phantom's voice was quiet, but it still echoed weirdly in the silence of the pit.

"I need to fight. I want to live." I tore my eyes away from Mimic. "I need to kill to live." Tears sparkled in my eyes and I wiped them away, nearly slicing my forehead open on the blade stuck to my arm. "It's not _right_, but I need to…"

Dan poked me in the side. "You need to _what_?" he said cruelly.

"I'm going to kill Mimic," I said, shivering at the indifference that slid into my voice for a moment.

Dan nodded, an evil grin on his face. "So, kid, are you going to sit around forever or ask for our help?"

"Help?" I asked and held out my hands. "I… we… need to live through this."

Phantom grabbed one of my stretched out hands. "We'll be fine. The Id, the Ego, and the Super-ego, back together again." We both turned to glance over at Dan.

"It's a slippery slope to evil," he hissed softly, reaching towards my hand. "You may find you like killing."

Just before his hand settled into mine and his claws dug into my skin, my eyes drifted back up to Mimic's face.

Time restarted, and all Hell broke loose.

* * *

It's nearly impossible to explain what happened next. A chilling, surging feeling swept through me, tossing me into the air. It was almost like the tingling, painful zap that happened when I transformed… but not quite. This was stronger, slamming into me with the force of a tidal wave. Hovering in the air, I gasped in pain and my eyes slammed shut.

When my eyes finally opened again, Mimic was hanging before me with a confused look on his face. He had pulled his attack short and the crowd around me had fallen silent.

I felt strangely full as I drifted back to the ground and let my shoes crunch in the sand. It was like I wanted to explode. My head felt hot. I rocked anxiously from my heels to my toes. Power crackled around me in blazing bands of white light that simmered in the sand and evaporated the already-spilt ectoplasm.

Glancing one last time at Mimic – who was still staring at me in disbelief – I raised one hand and glanced down at my fingers. My skin was a pale color: too pale to be human but with too much color to really be ghost. It was a different than I'd ever seen it before. Quietly, I waited for the surging energy to subside, waited for it to finish rocketing through me.

Mimic landed on the sand next to me, his ragged form hunching over for a second before his features _changed_. He was still me, but it was different. Mimic's hair faded to a strange blend of black and white, his eyes a flickering aura of blue and green, the blades on his arms sparkling impossibly bright in the darkened arena.

There was no doubt in my mind what had happened to Mimic. He had changed to look like me. For some reason, my own appearance had changed in that instant where I had accepted my other sides. But now wasn't the time to think about that; now was the time to act.

I raised an arm, ectoplasm jumping to my waiting fingertips with an ease that I'd never felt before. Power and energy still flooded off of me and crashed around Mimic's feet like waves of water. I felt a small smile tug at the corners of my mouth as Phantom's endorphin-producing adrenaline shot through me. "Let's finish this," I said.

Mimic, strangely, took a step backwards, his –_my_– eyes wide with disbelief. "What…"

I pushed off the ground, flipping through the air and kicking my foot into Mimic's chest before he could finish his sentence. Sliding on the half-dried mud of the pit, Mimic slammed up against the wall and groaned. He picked himself back up and held his chest as he turned to watch me.

I didn't keep him waiting. I stalked towards him, the blades extended off to my sides. Power sparkled and collected on the star-silver metal and I could _feel_ it deep inside of me like never before. I grinned at the heady feeling of power swirling around me.

Mimic suddenly snarled, taking an antagonistic step forwards. "You can't beat me. I have your power, I have your _strength_. Anything you can do…" He let the rest of the phrase dangle in air as he drifted into the air and collected a huge ball of power in his hands. "You can't beat _yourself_!"

"That's where you're wrong," I laughed softly, easily blocking the blast he sent in my direction. "I've already beat me, eight years from now."

He shot me a look before pushing off the ground and sending a kick in my direction. I caught his foot in my hands, twisted around and used his momentum to fling Mimic off in a different direction. Even as he fought to regain control of his impromptu flight, I sent a blast of ectoplasm in his direction. It slammed, unblocked, into his back and sent him skidding into the ground.

I flew towards him, landing in the drying muck next to him. He raised his head, glaring at me. "You'll never beat me. _Never_, you hear me?" he snarled, his emerald eyes flickering to red. "_Nobody _beats _me_!" Then, quite abruptly, he wasn't me anymore. Instead, I was looking straight at what Mimic really was: a glistening black shadow with bloody eyes. It floated off the ground, streams of darkness reaching out and coiling around me. "_Diiiieeee…."_

I simply closed my eyes. Yanking as much energy into my body as I could, I wove it together into a tight mass and pushed it into the blades on my arms. They started to glow with a supernatural light, sparkling like miniature stars as I threaded more and more power into them. Within moments I could _see_ the light of the blades through my eyelids.

Mimic's agonized screams rang through my ears as I kept throwing energy into the blades, causing them to grow brighter and brighter. I knew that what happened to Jonny 13's shadow-creature was probably happening to Mimic as well. Light beat shadow.

When the last shriek of pain melted away, I let all the energy ebb out of me, the light died away, and I opened my eyes. I stared at Mimic's evaporating remains, a small sense of accomplishment stirring in my chest, but it was hopelessly overpowered by a feeling of guilt and dread that I felt by taking someone else's life.

_It's a slippery slope to evil. You may find you like killing._

I shook my head, disgusted with the thought. "Never," I muttered, releasing the last of the energy to flow away and turn me back to human.

Nothing happened.

* * *

_She stared down at the notebook, then over to the bloody knife she held in her fingers. Cautiously, she closed the red notebook and got to her feet, limping over to the door. "He wanted to save everyone," she breathed, "but he didn't. Else I wouldn't be here."_

_She gazed at the door for a second, then down at the battered notebook. "It's not sounding too good for your survival, kid. Either this 'rebellion' never surfaced or you died a bit too fast."_

_"But not me." Her eyes hardened and she held the knife out towards the door. "I'm leaving this horrible place. I don't care if I die trying, at least I'm going to try. I'm not going to wait here like a lamb to the slaughter."_

_Crossing the last few feet, she stared at the scorched wood, then reached out and tapped the knife against the door._

_Nothing happened._

_With a confused look, she slammed the blade of the knife into the door. Still no resounding _thunk_ of the door unlocking. "What?" she whispered, pushing and pulling on the door with all of her strength as tears jumped into her eyes. "What's wrong? Why won't you open!"_

_Her fingers were bleeding when she finally collapsed against the solid and unmoving door. Dismally, she stared down at the knife in her hand. Bloody blade attached to a hand-crafted hilt, the end of which was all mangled, like a piece had been broken off. With a scream that was more of a sigh, she hurled the pointless piece of metal across the room and buried her head in her arms and sobbed._

_It was quite some time before she picked up the notebook and continued to read…_


	16. Page 12

Blink.

Blink.

_What?!_

I stared down at my hands for an incredibly long moment before slamming my eyes shut, my mind focusing around one singular thought: _change back_… Nothing was happening to my body, no fizzles of electricity meeting my grasping thoughts, no turning back into a human. I searched through my head for that distant feeling of warmth and life and humanity that was part of my mind. It had always been there, hovering right behind my forehead, a gentle little blister of warmth in a cold, dead body.

It was… _gone_.

_Change back, change back, change back_… Nothing.

Oh no, no, no, no. What was going on? Was I dead – a ghost permanently?

I'd always known that I wasn't really a ghost; I was far too human for that. My thoughts, my actions, my very _existence_ didn't work the same as a ghost's did. Sure, I looked like a ghost and I had more than a few 'ghostly attributes' (as my sister put it), but I'd always been solidly human deep down inside. I'd never been truly dead. But suddenly that spark of life was yanked out from underneath me.

For the first time ever, the impossibly chilling feeling of death completely surrounded me and curled through every molecule of my being. I licked my lips and felt my body being to shiver. The world swirled and tilted as a feeling of extreme lightheadedness slammed into me. "No…"

I could hear the word echo perfectly around me. The normally cheering, partying, betting crowds had been totally silent since my strange transformation and the explosive death of Mimic just two minutes earlier. I could almost feel their confusion ripping through the fatal air of the pit.

My eyes drifted open again, focused past my outstretched hands and onto the ground. The energy I'd released had dried up all the mud, returning the pit floor to its normal sandy state, but I wasn't all that interested in it.

"What happened to me?" I breathed. I had absolutely no thoughts on the matter. Nothing in my head made any amount of sense and my brain didn't seem to be quite working right.

"Move, Phantom," a guard said hesitantly. My gaze drifted upwards to meet his and I felt a shiver slip down my spine when the guard backed away from me, red eyes sparkling with fear. "Please," he added.

I just blinked at him for a moment before taking a few steps in the general direction of the door that led out of the pit. My eyes focused blandly on the ground that was passing right in front of my feet and my mind was oddly blank. I just walked.

When I reached the large doors, two guards were waiting for me – an armed escort to the showers and then back to my room. "Stop," one of them barked, gesturing wildly with his baton, "you need to change to your human form to walk back. Walker's orders." The other guards remained silent.

"I can't," I whispered, not looking up.

"Walker's orders," he hissed again, leaning in so close that I had to take a small step backwards to prevent us from bonking heads. "Human. Now."

"I _can't_," I repeated sourly and looked up, more of a glare than anything else. I knew that my eyes were now a glowing mixture of blues and greens, seething with raw power and confused frustration. I watched with a slightly pleased feeling when the guard blinked and took a step away from me, the other two guards following suit even though I wasn't looking at them. "I tried."

The guard pulled that annoyingly familiar box off his belt and ran his finger lightly over the trigger. "That's not good enough. Turn human or we'll make you."

A snarl worked its way out of my throat. I'm not sure who was more surprised by the raw intensity of it: the guards or myself. I could feel my eyes burn as energy swirled drunkenly around me and I felt an astonishingly powerful wave of exasperation and anger rise through me. "Read my lips. _I. Freaking. Can't_." _And I don't know why… I just can't…_

The guard, however, had apparently had enough of our chit-chat. I watched – in almost slow motion – as his finger pushed down on the button. I felt the leathery collar around my neck fizzle and spark, and then all of my confused thoughts were wrenched from my head by waves of agonizing pain. I should be used to the shock collar by now, but it had never hurt that much before. Energy sizzled against my nerves like a thousand hot pokers jabbing into my skin. It vibrated through me like the shriek of fingernails on a chalkboard, smashing through every defense down to my very core. I felt my eyes water, my nose start to bleed, and my ears pop – all in rapid and painful succession.

The agony went on forever, slamming and curling and clawing and ripping and tearing and chewing at me from the outside in and the inside out. Every atom of my body wavered and sent flashes of pure pain up into my brain. I'm not sure if I screamed, or moaned, or just passed out without any sort of audible reaction.

I did pass out, and all my brain thought as blessed darkness swallowed me and carried away the pain was, _it's about time_.

What woke me up later wasn't so much the screaming of my body – which throbbed painfully at the merest thought of movement – or the gnawing ache of my stomach as it begged to be fed, or even the dangling curiosity of just what had happened to me in that pit fight… what woke me up were sharp, needle-like claws pressing into my cheek and a squeaky voice that I wasn't completely convinced was real.

"Hybrid… wake up. You need to get up."

I decided to place my money on real. Talking rats are a bit of a rarity in the human world, but not so much of an impossibility in the Ghost Zone… and this one was just annoying enough to be real. One eye crept open –ouch– and I took a slow moment to study the rat before answering. "I hurt, go away."

The rat cocked an eyebrow and chittered softly. "We need to talk."

"Later," I muttered, closing my eyes. I managed to have them closed for a matter of milliseconds before the stupid rodent brought his teeth and my ear together in a painful clasp. "Hey!" Jerking upright, I took a swing at the rat, knocking him off my cot. Alone for the moment, I closed my eyes and rolled my neck. The sharp ache of my body ebbed a little as I moved. "Fine. I'm up. What?" I snapped and tried to ignore the soft pain that occurred with every movement.

Jumping back up onto my cot, the rat chose a spot conveniently out of my reach and curled his blue tail around his feet. "We need to talk," he said again.

"I get that…" I trailed off as the thought that I was sleeping on a cot struck me. I was sleeping on a cot that wasn't broken. On a fixed cot. On a… where was my picture? "Crud," I hissed and scrambled off the hard wooden bed, a wave of anxiety slamming into me with the force of a tsunami, my breath rasping in my throat. The seven ghost lights overhead bobbed and weaved around in their own mysterious dances, following me around like a tiny entourage as I searched for the picture of my family.

"Looking for something?" the rat asked.

I glanced up at him, that tidal wave of panic cascading into my gut and, impossibly, growing bigger when I couldn't find what I was looking for. "A picture. It was here, but someone came to fix my cot while I was gone and now my picture is gone."

"It's under your pillow, hybrid."

"Under my…" I was across the room in the blink of an eye, pulling the pillow aside to study the charred picture, lying right next to the scorched purple scrunchie that Walker had given me in his attempt to make me believe I'd killed my best friends.

"You miss your family, don't you," the rat said softly.

It wasn't a question, but I nodded anyways, feeling a small smile drift across my face as that incredibly powerful mountain of dread drained away. "Every day I miss them," I breathed, "and I want to go home." _Too bad monsters don't get to go home_. My breath caught in my throat at the sudden thought, my mind yanking my own thoughts in a horrible direction.

"You'll see them again."

Distantly, I shook my head. "I'm not sure, rat. How am I ever going to get to go home when I look like this? When I've done the things I've done?"

"My name is L'Jai, not _rat_, and you'll see home again. The way you look, it's not…"

"I'm a ghost!" I interrupted, my eyes flashing as a white-hot poker of anger suddenly erupted inside of me. "I'm dead. And now I'm going to have these stupid blades sticking out of my arms all the…" I trailed off, staring down at my arms in confused fascination. My arms were empty. No blades. _No blades_! "Where are…"

A feeling started deep in my stomach, rippled through my chest, and down my arms; it wasn't so much painful as just weird and different. Even as those words slipped from my mouth, I watched two shimmering, metallic blades grow out of my arms. Twisting one arm slightly, the shining flat of the star-silver blade caught the glowing green and blue ghost lights and began to glow.

I waited a moment, ready for my brain to spit out how it felt about this newest development. It supplied me with a short quip about Wolverine from the X-Men, but that was about it. I guess, on top of everything else that had happened in the past few hours, having magically appearing blades didn't rank too highly.

"Like I said," the rat stated, drawing my eyes away from the blades in my arms, "we need to talk."

_The time has come, the Walrus said, to talk of many things… of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages, and Kings! And why the sea is boiling hot and whether pigs have wings._ The tiny bit of unfamiliar rhyme popped into my head unannounced and unasked-for. I sighed and shook my head; too many confusing things at one time. I didn't want to know where it had come from. "Talk about what?" I asked after a few seconds, my brain willing to focus on something it might be able to understand. Perhaps the rat had some answers for me.

"What happens next." The rat's tail thumped softly against my ratted blanket as he said the word 'next'.

I didn't care what happened next, I wanted to know what was going on now. "What's happening to me?"

The rat blinked, obviously thrown for a loop by the question. "I haven't a clue," he stated shortly. "I could probably wager a guess, but it'd just be a guess. What we need to talk about…"

"Wager away," I interrupted. I wanted to know what the rat's guess was. It had to be better than my non-ideas.

"I would guess," the rat began with a heavy sigh, "that since you were a halfa – half human, half ghost with the ability to transfer between the two – that something has happened to halt that transformation mid-morph. You had black hair or white hair, now your hair is both. You had green eyes or blue eyes, now your eyes are both. My guess would be that before you had a ghost body or a human body… and now you are both, simultaneously." He paused for a moment. "More of a hybrid than a halfa, really."

My forehead wrinkled as I listened to that simple explanation. It made sense on some levels, but not on others. My instincts were telling me that, in essence, the rat was right… but that something was wrong with his explanation. It seemed a little too perfect, a little too readily available. And what was that something that stopped me from transforming? "A hybrid…" I breathed, wondering for a moment why he'd been calling me 'hybrid' all along if I just turned into one.

The rat nodded sharply. "Precisely. A not entirely unfortunate occurrence, in the long run – preliminary readings show that your inherent power level has jumped exponentially. We do, however, need to move onto more important topics."

My head shot up that that. More _important_? What could be more important than what's happening to me?

"I told you, briefly, of the resistance," he continued before I had the chance to speak, "and of the hope that we could destroy Walker and the Pits once and for all. Pieces are in motion and the plan needs to be kept on track. We cannot let it fall apart or everything may come to ruin."

My gaze dropped away from him as he spoke, slipping down to my study my arms. When I was fourteen and first figured out how to turn into my ghost form, it had taken me months to get used to the idea of having glowing skin. Now I felt like I was starting over. My skin was much more human than before, but it still held that fascinating glow of energy and my attention was drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

The fingers of my left hand pressed into my right arm, brushing over the skin and then up the length of the star-silver blade. Even though the blade was made of metal, when my fingers traced the blade felt exactly the same as when my fingers were touching my own skin. It was still strange.

I spread my fingers and tipped my head to the side, letting my mind settle on the idea of the blades retracting back inside of me. I had the hope that the blades were like all of my powers – controlled by my thoughts. A small smile crossed my lips when the blades began to shrink. The cold metal felt like it raced up the veins in my arms, through my chest, and settled in my stomach. "Weird," I whispered.

"Are you listening to me, hybrid?" the rat squeaked in annoyance. "I'm detailing your part of this plan."

I looked up and shook my head, a flare of annoyance gushing through me like a miniature volcano, making my eyes burn a little. "No, I wasn't listening. I have other things on my mind." Trying to tone down the glare, I stomped on the impossibly powerful emotion that had rolled through me. To add another log to the fire of confusion that was my mind at the moment, I decided I needed to figure out why my emotions were so powerful and close to the surface. It was like a buffer was gone; every emotion I had I felt in a way I never had before.

"Then I'll say it again. Listen this time." The rat took a deep breath, shaking me out of my own musings. He didn't seem concerned about my rocketing emotions. "You're a big part of this plan if we're going to take down Walker and the Pits."

I opened my mouth to speak, but the rat cut me off.

"Don't interrupt me, just listen. You've got the key, hybrid. That key will give you a measure of control over the ambient atmosphere of the Pits complex. That means that you need to be in contact with the key as much as possible. Walker has, in essence, brainwashed a lot of innocent ghosts into believing that killing for enjoyment is the proper thing to do. You can change that by gaining control of the key. This…"

"Why don't you do it?" I interrupted.

He blinked up at me, his sapphire eyes glowing in confusion. "What?"

"You had the key. Why didn't you do this stuff you're talking about. Why me?"

"I'm not powerful enough," he answered softly. "I stole the key from Walker, but that doesn't make it mine. Possession is only nine-tenths of the law. Raw ability is the remaining tenth – a piece I don't have. The Pits will never be free unless Walker is completely removed from power."

I just nodded my head, glancing away from him.

"Hopefully," the rat continued, "this will stop ghosts from coming to the fights. We'll coordinate with the growing rebellion. At a future fight when there are few spectators to disturb our plans, the rebels will shut off the shield so that you can escape. The rebels will back you up so you can take out Walker."

"Just like that. Just kill him?"

He curled his tail a little closer to his feet. "I know you don't like killing, young hybrid, but it is necessary in this instance. Thousands upon thousands of innocent souls have been lost to the ravages of this place. Millions more will suffer if we don't act."

"I don't mind killing Walker," I said softly, shaking my head, "but he's a very powerful ghost. I don't think it'll be as easy as you're making it sound."

"For a halfa, yes – it'd be nearly impossible," he chirped, eyes gleaming. "But for a hybrid with a pair of Guardian's blades fused into you and the key to this universe in your pocket?"

I gazed at him in silent disbelief.

"That's the other reason I'm here. You need to learn how to use those blades of yours more effectively." His eyes glowed in the faint lights. "Would you like me to train you?"

When the rat finally vanished back to wherever he came from to get some 'supplies' for the training session he managed to talk me in to, I was left to my own devices. Since my muscles were still sore from the shock treatment I'd gotten earlier, I curled up on the cot to take a nap. I've had the unfortunate chances to sleep on both the cot and on the rocky floor… and I'm not sure which is more comfortable.

This time, however, something was different. I found it ridiculously easy to keep my body floating a few inches above the cot and I _knew_ – somehow – that I could keep myself in the air all night if I wanted. I had a bed of air. I curled up a little more, throwing the ratted blanket over me even though the incessant cold of the Pits didn't really bother me like it used to.

Yawning and curling one arm under my head to keep the thin pillow from falling, I closed my eyes and let myself drift into dreams.

_I bobbed and danced to an ancient and powerful beat, twirling and swirling to a hidden rhythm so infectious that I couldn't fight it – and didn't really want to. The dancing was like an afterthought; a movement as unconscious as breathing. It just happened and was, like the wind._

_I watched a single ghost pace sourly in his cell below me, talking to himself. Before I could really focus on what was happening in the tiny room, I was yanked backwards. Something that felt as powerful and as instinctive as nature curled a finger around my stomach and pulled. Colors blended into a chaotic pattern of greens and blues before settling again. The image below me was different._

_A young woman, curled up in a corner with a red notebook in her hands. Another sudden mess of colors and the feeling of being dragged backwards, and the view steadied into one of a ghost with green hair sitting yoga-like in the middle of the room. Again, everything cascaded and I caught a glimpse of an empty hallway. Then a young man sleeping in a room. Then a ghost glaring at her door. Then two ghosts fighting in the Pits. Then a single guard stalking down a corridor._

_Pictures flickered and flashed, snap-shot images of ghosts and humans that ranged throughout the Pits complex. Since it was just a dream, I went with it, flowed with it, let it happen. It made just as much sense as dreams were supposed to make._

_One of the quick images steadied just long enough for me to see a familiar figure wrapped up in a blanket on her cot. For the first time in this insane dream, I fought against the intense feeling of being pulled backwards. I wanted to stay in this cell. The desire to move, dance, and swirl curled in my mind irrepressibly… but I stayed._

_I stared down at the soft black hair in a sort of fascinated horror as I watched her breathe. She curled up a little closer, shivering against the cold. With the kind of fuzzy logic that was perfectly reasonable in a dream, I reached out and pulled her tattered blanket up around her shoulders. Her eyelids fluttered a tiny bit and I caught just the tiniest hint of her eyes opening before the yanking feeling was back._

_Too impossible to resist, I let myself be dragged backwards and away, dancing chaotically through the messy blue-green mists. More images settled in front of me, blurring together into a long train of pain, sorrow, fury, and despair. Over and over, I saw tears fall and desperate fists fly and hopeless prisoners scream in anger._

_But then something new happened. The dragging, swirling mass of color took longer and a feeling of intense fatigue slammed into me. The picture solidified before me but it felt like I was fighting to keep my eyes open. When everything finally settled down, I instantly knew where I was._

_The lab. My dad was sitting in the darkened basement under a single light, working steadily at some small invention. I drifted closer, curious._

_"Jack," I heard my mother say as she suddenly appeared into my view, "it's two in the morning. Come to bed." She rested her hand on my dad's shoulder and leaned in to give him a peck on his cheek._

_"Just a little longer and I can finish this," he mumbled. "I can get this done and it'll work this time."_

_Mom had a small, painful smile on her face. "We're not going to do Danny any good if you get sick or get hurt from being tired. You can finish it in the morning."_

_Dad shook his head, his dark-ringed eyes haunted when he looked up, "You heard what that ghost said – what he's living in. I can't…" he shook his head for a moment, "I can't just let him be there. Every minute could be his last… Mads…"_

_"I know." She curled her arms around Dad's shoulders and rested her head against his head. "I know, Jack." I slipped a little lower in the air, watching with a dreamy detachment as tears slipped out of her eyes. After a long moment, she let go and wiped her eyes. "What tool do you need next?" she asked quietly._

_A ghost of a smile crossed his face. "Can you get a battery charged up? I'm almost done and we can try it."_

_"Alright." Mom walked across the lab, closer to where I was bobbing and twirling through the air. She reached up onto a shelf and pulled down the box of batteries. After fishing one out, she placed it back, her gaze drifting around the darkened lab. She seemed to stare in my direction and, suddenly, her gaze was piercing into my soul. "Jack…" she breathed._

_Mom's eyes didn't leave. She was looking straight at me. "Jack!"_

_Then everything seemed to explode and I was yanked backwards with a scream, closing my eyes against the chaotic, swirling, dancing blue and green ghost lights._

The guards appeared at my door almost before I had woken up. They shuffled me into Former's office with little more than scowls, their fingers hovering over the buttons that would activate the shock collar the instant I did anything they didn't like. I just sighed and kept my head down as they shuffled me through the dark corridors, crossing my fingers that I wouldn't do anything that they would take as aggressive. The last thing I wanted was another experience with the collar.

When the heavy door slammed shut behind me, I glanced up and around at the now-familiar book room, shaking away the remains of my strange dream. I hesitated as my eyes caught something new. A miniature version of Former was sitting at the large book instead of the normal Former. Fuzzy black hair, odd blue eyes, dark skin, ragged clothes, somewhere around my age. Carefully studying the newcomer, I waited for Former to appear around a corner and explain who this was.

When the teenager finally looked up, a huge grin split his face. "Phantom!" He bounced out of his chair and practically danced over to me in a way that eerily reminded me of the ghost lights that haunted my room. "I can't _believe_ I get to meet you! It's a good thing that my brother's sick. I mean, it's not a _good_ thing 'cause he's at Doctor Mary's and that's no fun since she's evil, but it's a good thing for me. See, I talked Elise into doing double duty for me so I could do Gory's job and let him stay home and get some sleep today, which isn't going to be so good for me because I'll have to pay Elise back and she'll save it for the next time we have to clean out an _elephant_ stable or something and I'll have to do it all on my own and that's going to take _forever_, but I guess that's just life." He took a deep breath and held out his hand. "Name's Mica. Mica Former. Pleased to meet you, finally. I've been waiting and waiting to meet you; I've heard so much about you from all the ghosts. You're kind of a hero."

I blinked at his rambling monologue and shook his hand. "Hi…" He never seemed to come to a stop, constantly shifting his weight on his feet, but I figured he would be a few inches taller than me if he held still. The strangest thing about Mica was his eyes; something about his eyes made me shiver whenever he looked at me.

"Are you ready for this fight? It's against a human again and I know you don't like that very much. My brother complains a lot whenever he finds out that you get placed against humans. He used to think you should've been up against some of the strongest ghosts out there, but I don't think he thinks that any more. He had a really weird idea a few days ago and he won't talk to me about it and there's really not much I can do about it because he's human and I can't _see_ things about humans like I can around ghosts. But I think it's got something to do with you." Mica smiled, moving away from me and whirling around the tiny, book-covered room. "I haven't told him that you've got Walker's knife, by the way, 'cause he won't tell me what he's planning, but I know he's planning something or else he wouldn't be talking to Doctor Mary quite as much as he does. He couldn't possibly have a crush on her, not _again_."

It was official. I'd never met anyone who talked as much or as fast as this kid. Then, quite suddenly, one of his fast-spoken sentences slammed into my stomach. "Walker's knife?" I whispered. How did he know about that? Who would he tell?

He laughed a little. "Oh, don't worry, I won't tell anyone. I think that Gory's got an idea on how to get out of here, that's why he's chatting with Doctor Mary rather than sleeping. She's usually horrible and really mean, but she's got definite connections to the real world. For my last birthday she got me a pair of sunglasses. Not sure what I can do with sunglasses when I'm in the Pits since it's always so dark, but Gory says it's the thought that counts in the end. So I'm saving them for when we get free." The easy smile faded for a moment. "I've never seen anything but the Pits, not that I remember anyways. You're going to free us all, right?"

"Uh…" I took a small step backwards. "What?"

"L'Jai was telling me all about the rebellion that's forming." He settled back into his chair, his fingers sliding over the numbers in the book, making small changes to the huge ledger. "They're going to free us and you're going to help. I _see_ it around you." His blue eyes flickered up and fixed on me. I shuddered at something in his gaze and took another step backwards. Then he nodded. "Yup. You're going to do something special to save us all."

"I…"

"The human's name is Sophie. She's a 1-H, which is kind of weird. You don't see many humans who win their first fight. That's what the 'one' means, you know – that's she's won one fight. I think it's got more to do with the fact that she was placed against another human in her first fight and he had a heart attack and died in the pit without them ever having to touch each other and I heard that seeing her opponent die like that did something not very nice to her mind." Mica's smile slipped back onto his face. "So I hope you do good, knife-bearer. It was nice to meet you and maybe I can come visit soon and I'll make sure to tell my brother that you sent him wishes to get better."

"Wha…"

The doors leading to the Pits suddenly slammed open and cut off whatever I was going to say. Mica turned to the guards. "Sophie, pit five!" he announced. "You'll like pit five," he winked at me. "It's a-_maze_-ing."

He was still chuckling, and I was still totally mystified, when the doors slammed shut and I was escorted through the tunnels towards my twelfth fight.

"Okay," I said softly, running my hand through my dual-shaded hair as the guards flew up into the air and the shield snapped on overhead. "This is new." This was my first fight in pit five and it looked like, as the chatterbox had sort of mentioned, a maze. The crumbling stone walls went all the way up to the faintly glowing shield and I couldn't see much through the shadows that crept around the corners of the walls. My opponent, this mysterious Sophie, was nowhere to be seen.

The first step, I figured, was to find my opponent. I closed my eyes, searching for the elusive feel of the human that was in the pit with me. For my previous fights, I'd felt the sticky-sweet scent of fear even before I'd stepped foot onto the pit floor. Human emotions traveled really well in the Ghost Zone and humans normally stood out like a beacon you could sense for miles around. This time, I hadn't felt anything. It was bizarre. And, since I was currently in a pit fighting for my life, it contained a feeling of dark foreboding.

_There_. I opened my eyes and focused them in the direction of the tiny wash of emotion. It was faint, but definite – there really was a human in the pit with me. The mob watching our fight was loud, a constant moving blur in my vision, and I had to focus a little to push them out of my mind. The crowd was, apparently, displeased with the lack of emotions flowing off of my opponent.

I slipped through the shadows, pressing my hand against the first cracked wall I came across, testing a theory that had settled into my brain. It was, as I had figured it would be, made of the same material as everything in the Pits – meaning I couldn't phase through it. Continuing my quick search of the area, I noted that flying over the maze would be impossible with the shield so close to the tops of the walls. The only option available to me was to go through the shadowed mess.

Shaking my head, I let a small sigh drift out of my mouth. There were endless amounts of traps possible in the darkened recesses of the maze. Who knew what was in there? I silently cursed Mr. Lancer and the stupid assignment that he had made me do on the myth of the minotaur and the labyrinth. I had all sorts of pictures jumping into my head of large, power creatures hiding around every bend.

I pinpointed my opponent once more, noting that she hadn't moved at all, and took a few cautious steps into the dark interior of the maze. The only light came from the faintly glowing shield almost twenty feet over my head. Swirling my hand through the air, I collected a handful of ectoplasm and forced it to glow like a small lamp. By the glow of my own eerie, green energy, I could see that the teetering walls of the ancient maze swept off in both directions… both ways ending in sharp corners that led deeper into the shadows. "Oh… _fun_," I whispered sourly.

After randomly picking to head right, I steadfastly refused to look at the random creepy-crawlies that infested the old maze as I floated into the air and flew over the shattered and crumbling floor. I hesitated at the corner, my mind supplying me with a nice image of a monster huddled around the corner, waiting to take my head off when I poked it around the edge. But, unable to come up with a better idea, I stuck my head around the corner.

An empty, dark passage. I breathed a small sigh of relief, slipping forwards through air. The Ghost Zone is a haunted place and feels like it, but this maze was _creepy_ with a new definition of the word. I glanced once behind me and hurried a bit faster, checking out the passages that broke off of the one I was on.

Nothing to the left. Nothing to the right. Still nothing behind me. Nothing in front of me.

Twelve turns later, I drifted to a stop and studied the seemingly never-ending shadowed corridors with a quickly-developing sense of frustration. Everything looked the same. I had no idea where I was and no clue where I was trying to go anymore.

I peeked around another corner, annoyed and irritated at how lost I'd gotten myself. How Walker ever expected this to be a spectator sport, I didn't think I'd ever understand. I had to have been in here, drifting randomly, for almost twenty minutes – it had to be kind of dull to watch. Creepy to be in, but boring to observe.

Just as the thought crossed my mind, however, I picked up on something new. The noisy, angry crowd had fallen silent. I froze, tipping my head to the side as I tried to listen. Above the scratching and slithering sounds of the ghostly inhabitants of the maze and the soft crackling of the shield, I couldn't hear anything. "Maybe they all went home?" I wondered in disbelief.

Glancing upwards, I blinked in surprise to find all of the ghostly spectators floating over the maze, staring down at me through the shield. My forehead wrinkled in pure confusion. _Why were they staring at me? What was I doing…_

Sophie.

I instantly reached out with my senses, searching for that faint and elusive human scent I'd picked up on earlier. It was less than a heartbeat before I located her. She was just a few feet behind me, her emotions curled up into a tight ball of expectation and derisive amusement.

I spun, my hands coming up in a futile block, just catching a glimpse of a lithe human woman already throwing herself out of the shadows. _No blades_! my mind shrieked at me, that cold rushing feeling slicing through my chest and down my arms even as the thought settled into my brain. It almost hurt as the blades slashed into existence on my forearms just in time to catch Sophie's blades and turn them aside.

Sophie, snarled in rage, her emotions tingeing the air around her as she landed heavily on the ground and spun to face me. Brown eyes were wide and sharp with insane fury. "_Damn ghosts_!" she shrieked at me, cutting at me with crazy swipes and thrusts of her blades. "I'm going to _kill you dead_!"

Pushing myself backwards and out of range of her frenzied attack, I watched her for a moment. When she sliced at me, leaving her body open to attack, I slammed out with a foot and caught her firmly in the stomach. She doubled over and collapsed to the ground. "I'm a ghost," I muttered and dropped to the ground, "I'm already dead. Find something less stupid to shout about."

She literally hissed at me, her narrowed eyes almost glowing with the intensity of her insane rage. Spitting once in my direction, she got to her feet, whirled, and vanished back into the shadows.

I took two steps forwards before catching myself. I was a glowing ghost stuck in the darkness. Sophie was a non-glowing human. It was panther vs. firefly in the middle of the night; it wasn't hard to figure out which was the easier to spot and track. A few choice words slipped into my mind as I tried to come up with a plan of attack.

Tipping my head to the side, I closed my eyes and prayed that Sophie didn't attack just at that moment. For some reason, her emotional aura was too weak for me to pick up normally – it took a bit more effort. She was… _there_. My eyes flickered open, studying the darkness in the direction of Sophie's aura.

Two steps forwards, and Sophie's form materialized before me. She was crouched, her rusted blades held up in a simple guard. "Sophie…" I whispered and watched her flinch. Her clothes were muddy and ratted, blood and wounds speckled all over her body. Based on what the chatterbox had told me, her first fight hadn't given her those wounds – the injuries had to have come from someone else or herself.

"Stay away from me," she snarled in a faint British accent, a growl bubbling in her throat. "I'll _not_ die at the hands of the dead."

"I'm only half dead… does that help?" I wondered faintly, taking another step forwards. I wasn't sure what use talking to her would have – she was going to die soon any way this worked out – but it was a nice reprieve to have her not attacking me.

"Stupid, damn ghosts. _Rot in Hell_!"

I saw the thing in her hand a moment too late. She whipped it through the air with deadly accuracy and it slammed into the side of my head. Collapsing to the ground in a fit of pain, I could feel my cold blood cascading down the side of my face. Whatever she had hit me with had been sharp. My head was still ringing when I managed to get my eyes to focus on Sophie standing over me, her eyes blazing with rage.

Her blade went up, no doubt with the intent to plunge it down between my eyes before I recovered the ability to move, when my emotions suddenly kicked back into overdrive and swamped my mind. The scared fury that had been quietly bubbling in the background of my mind started to literally _burn _in my veins. Anger and fear fueled my energy, slammed into my muscles, and it completely over-rode my common sense.

By the way, common sense was pointing out that I right about now would be a good time to move out of the way. My emotions were screaming at me to attack, damn the pending fatal thrust.

A growl tore from my throat as I twisted my body, scissoring my feet around Sophie's legs and sending her sprawling to her hands and knees. I found myself in a crouch, pushing myself up to continue the attack. _Stupid human, how dare she attack me?_ I stepped towards her, just in time for her to lash backwards with her foot and catch me in the leg.

She scrambled back to her feet and twisted to face me, but it was too late for her. Swallowed by rage, I followed her forwards, ignoring the sharp pain in my leg and the blood dripping down my face. I slashed out with my blade once and she managed to parry it with a scream of defiance, leaving her body open to attack.

With a snarl, I leapt forwards and carried her to the ground, her breath whooshing out of her as her back connected heavily with the ground. I felt her aura spike with fear. Pinning her arms and legs to her sides, not even noticing as one of her blades sliced open my leg, I glared at her. I was furious beyond all measure and I wasn't entirely sure why. _Crazy, insane human. A blight on the land. She doesn't deserve to survive. She attacked me!_

The thoughts were mine, and I was totally carried away by them at the time. Later, when I was calmer, I couldn't figure out why. Too many of my friends were human... I shouldn't think those kinds of things. But there I was, filled with anger that this _human,_ a living, breathing soul, had dared to try to fight with me. For those few moments, consumed by my own emotions, I was thoroughly convinced that I was better than her. That I deserved to live and she deserved to die.

Perhaps the worst part was the fact that I was sincerely _enjoying_ the feeling of fear bubbling off of her. There really is no way to explain to a human was it feels like to be surrounded by the aura of a powerful human emotions. It bubbles deep inside of you, warm and fizzy, like a combination of the universe's best soda pop and the feel of a first love. It's nearly impossible to resist for any length of time.

And I'd never, ever, felt it this powerful or this pure. It might have to do with the fact that I was a bit more ghost than usual. It was… addicting. Thoroughly wonderful.

Her fear fizzled pleasantly against my nerves and I hesitated for a long second - wrapped up in the feeling - before continuing with my attack. My blade flashed out, neatly drawing a line over Sophie's throat and watching with a furious sense of satisfaction as ruby liquid spilled from her.

Then it was over. The emotional high I'd been riding, unthinking, vanished from beneath me. I staggered to my feet and pushed myself away from the quickly spreading pool of blood. _Oh… I just… I…_

My stomach twisted with a sense of finality and I heaved, what little food I'd eaten burning its way up my throat and out onto the ground. Closing my eyes, I banished the blades back from wherever they came from, shivering at the cold feeling of metal racing through my veins, and pressed my palms over my eyes hard enough to make stars dance behind my eyes.

Sophie's body twitched a few times as I pushed all of my emotions back into a small corner of my mind. I didn't have time to deal with the mental consequences of killing her in a fit of rage. I couldn't even worry about why my emotions had been so overpowering. Right now, I had other issues.

Like the fact that I was _still_ in the middle of a labyrinth, completely lost.

* * *

_The young human uncurled from her spot in the corner, stretched and allowed the red notebook to drop from her fingers. "I still don't get it," she murmured. "He must die at the end. Walker lives… or maybe he escaped…"_

_She picked up the bloody, rusty knife and balanced it on her palm for a moment. "This is the key, it's got to be. But it doesn't open my door." Shaking her head, blinking back the tears that prickled in her eyes at the thought of her escape-cut-short, she curled her fingers around the blade. "This was the key. Was." She snorted. "Apparently not anymore."_

_Raising her arm to throw the disappointing bit of metal into a different corner, she suddenly froze. Thoughts coalesced in her mind. "He took the key with him. He's still got the key."_

_She stared up at the knife, words from the story replaying in her mind, whispering out through her lips. "For the first time in all the time I'd been in the Pits, I really got to see it. It had been a nice knife at one point, sharp edges and an artistic handle. It was pretty basic though – simple wood and steel with some small engravings. The only thing that seemed out of place on the streamlined weapon was an ungainly jewel stuck onto the butt of the knife. I scratched at the dried blood on the jewel with my overgrown fingernail. It was a beautiful deep-sea blue, with some kind of golden symbol inside of it." Her eyes trailed over the knife clutched in her hand. Simple blade, artistic handle, mangled end. There was no crystal on her knife. It was missing._

_"I understand." Her smile was fierce. "The crystal is the key. He's got it. He's still got it. He hasn't fought Walker yet."_

_Giggling crazily, wishing against hope that her idea was right, she placed the knife back down next to her and snatched up the notebook. "He's hiding in the Pits somewhere." Her eyes glittered. "He hasn't left yet."_

_Turning the page, she continued to read…_


	17. Page 13

_Rage and fury swirled around the tiny section of the maze, curling almost tangibly around the young man as he towered over the trembling form of the human he'd been told to fight. She'd gotten in a few lucky blows – as evidenced by the gooey green blood trickling down the boy's face – but she really never stood a chance. Not against an angered hybrid._

I stared at the blood pooling by my feet as the strange image dissipated. My mind drifted for a moment as it tried to kick back in gear, my eyes blinking blankly. It settled on trying to comprehend what was right in front of my eyes. Blood.

Red and green… lots more crimson than emerald. They swirled and refused to mix – oil and water. Life and death. Human and ghost. Never able to truly become one; they never had and they never would.

Unlike me. What does that make me?

Before I could do more than ask the unanswerable question, the world fizzled and danced out of focus again.

_The young woman had fallen to the ground with a choked-off scream. Now her lifeless eyes were nothing more than pools of blankness that stared in the direction of her murderer. The hybrid didn't give her dead body a second glance, instead turning his attention to the surrounding maze. When he looked up into the faces of the ghosts floating overhead, feasting off of the remnants of the human's dying breath, his face twisted into a sort of disgust. Suddenly his eyes seemed to flare with an eerie blue-green light and his head dropped so that he was staring at his feet, contemplating the blood that was oozing around them._

I blinked away the strange image of myself, trying desperately to get these visions to stop. Not knowing where they were coming from or what they were for, I needed them to go away. So I did what I normally did when experiencing some strange ghost power: I held my breath for a moment, crossed my fingers, and waited. After nearly a minute, I let the air out of my lungs and tried to smile.

Looking up, intending to search for a way free of this deadly labyrinth and keeping my fingers crossed that the images (or visions or whatever they were) were done for good, I spotted a tiny blue ghost light appearing in the air over Sophie's head. The world fuzzed around me before I had a chance to think.

_Dancing and bobbing on currents of emotional energy, a small blue ghost light twirled into existence above the blood-soaked body. The boy's gaze was suddenly drawn from the crowds above his head to the ghost light that contained all that was left of Sophie's spirit. They looked at each other, the hybrid's eyes glowing with an internal light exactly the same color as Sophie's ghost light._

As the world swirled back into reality around me, I knew that these weird visions and the ghost lights were somehow connected. The 'how' and the 'why' of it all was beyond me, but the idea seemed to click in my head. I somehow knew that I was right. "Stop that," I muttered randomly, wondering if the ghost light would be able to understand. It drifted away from the pool of blood and danced up to hover in front of my nose, making the blood-splattered walls of the maze vanish in a swirl of blue light.

_The hybrid blinked his eyes, studying the ghost light as it twirled. It didn't understand words – it was too far removed from its human existence for that. But it comprehended emotions. The ghost light formerly known as Sophie hesitated when it felt a swirl of apprehension and resignation from the hybrid._

_\- ? -_

"Stop," I whispered again, putting force behind the word when my world came back into focus. "I need to get out of here and you're not helping." I hoped that even if it couldn't understand the words, it would be able to figure out my meaning based on my emotions.

I took a few steps down the maze and glanced back, my eyes resting on Sophie's limp form for a moment, guilt and frustration sizzling through my veins like a small tidal wave. I blinked and wrenched my eyes away from the pool of blood, taking a deep breath and trying to steady my crashing emotions. It took a few seconds, but I got them back under control, blinking away the tears that had formed in my eyes. The tiny blue ghost light appeared, bobbing and twirling right in front of me, sending a small echo of that wave of frustrated annoyance skipping through me. _Why is the stupid thing following me? _"Fine. Follow. But don't do the vision thing anymore," I snapped.

_\- ! -_

"Excellent," I murmured, raising an eyebrow at the fact that I was talking to a _little ball of light._ It fit in with talking to rats, being captured by a dead warden, and fighting for my life in a pit, I thought. Twisting around, I let out a slow breath and I started to make my way back through the maze. I had wandered pretty much randomly on the way here, so making my way back _out_ of the maze was going to be a bit of a trick. I glanced up again, but most of the ghosts that had been hovering overhead appeared to have lost all interest in me. There were only a handful of them still watching.

One of the spirits, wearing a dark green cloak, waved to me. I hesitated, then waved back. The green-cloaked ghost seemed to look both ways before holding up six fingers. Then he slowly put down his fingers, one at a time. When the last finger went down, he pointed to me, then pointed over his head.

I blinked a few times, wondering what he meant, and shrugged. The ghost held out six fingers again as the world fizzled and twisted.

_A ghost light bobbed and danced out of the star-like gloom of the Pits and twirled around the head of the green-cloaked ghost. The ghost light's energy briefly illuminated the ghost's silvery face before swirling on. "Six more fights," Skulker rasped, glancing around apprehensively as he tried to communicate his plan with the trapped hybrid. He didn't know how to put this any better without giving himself away to the guards that lurked around the edges of the pit. "Six." He put down all of his fingers. "In six fights, we're going to free you." He pointed to the hybrid staring up at him with blue-green eyes, then pointed briefly towards the ceiling. "Free."_

"Free," I mouthed, staring up at the green-cloaked ghost. "I thought you hated me, why are you helping?" Skulker didn't answer. Instead, the figure gathered his cloak around him and flew off.

My feet moved, carrying me farther from Sophie's remains. Tiny ghost spiders and shadowy spectral rats appeared in the darkness, scuttling away from me as I approached them. Broken, crumbling walls were barely visible in the glow given off by my body as I clambered over the remnants of old walls, trying to retrace my steps. Finally I reached a point where the passage I was in forked to the left and right and I couldn't remember which direction I came from.

"Great," I breathed. "Eeny, meeny, miny, moe…" The blue ghost light twirled past me, vanishing down the corridor to the right. "That way, huh?"

_Broken walls flicked and flashed as the tiny light danced its way down the maze. Left, left, right, left, right… and it was free._

The world tipped drunkenly on its side as I blinked away the image, shaking my head slightly. "Stop that… you're going to drive me nuts. More nuts than I already am, anyway." I wandered in the direction the tiny light had gone, muttering to myself. "Talking rats, lights that are dead people giving out visions, murderous ghosts, hybrids… It all fits, somehow."

_\- ! -_

_The hybrid was moving through the maze, unnoticing as a giant shadow slithered out of the darkness behind him…_

I twisted around, my arms coming up to protect my head before I fully realized what was coming. A huge blob of darkness detached itself from the rest of the darkness and flung itself at me. I ducked, glancing up at red-green scales as the creature flew over my head. I heard it crash into the wall behind me as I spun back around to keep it in my sights.

It shook its head, blurry-red eyes turning around to train on me. A deep hissing rattled the maze and its tongue flickered out. "Ghosst."

Taking a small step backwards, I narrowed my eyes. "Get out of my way," I warned it, the blades extending from my arms as I tensed and stared at the ghost snake. "I'm done with my fight – I'm leaving."

"Bitess'es, tearss'es, sslayss'es," the ghost snake slurred. It reared its head up to easily twice my height and glared down at me. Flashing its fangs at me, it continued, "Ghosst child diess'es."

"Thanks for the warning," I muttered sarcastically. "Now, move?"

It moved. Fangs extended, it uncurled its body in a lightning fast move, slashing towards me. I threw myself to the side and felt the cold scales of the snake brush past me. "Hey!" I snapped. It wasn't supposed to be attacking _me! _I was done with my fight. What was it doing?

The snake's tail curled, wrapping around my legs and sending me stumbling. Before I could gain my balance, the snake's freezing coils appeared around me, pinning my arms securely to the sides and tightening painfully. "Leggo," I gasped, unable to get a breath. In this weird ghost-human state, I still needed to breathe.

"All in the pitss'es, fair game," the snake hissed. "Ssqueezess'es ghosst child. Diess'es."

As the snake wound itself tighter, I struggled, pain flaring in my ribs and arms. My vision was beginning to grow dark. "Le…" I ground out with the last of the air in my lungs. I couldn't think of what to do. I didn't want to die here…

"_MINE!"_ A howling voice shook the walls of the maze. Something huge slammed into the snake from behind and the coils suddenly released their grasp on me. I stumbled to my knees, gasping in a huge lungful of air, already twisting around to see what had happened. Another ghost had appeared – a giant wolf-like creature with blazing blue eyes and three-foot fangs. "_MINE!"_ it bayed again, slashing at the snake with its claws.

"Dogss'es," the snake muttered, its red eyes narrowing in anger as it glared at its attacker. Then it slipped off down the maze, the dog-wolf bounding after it.

I pushed myself to my feet, still struggling to get air into my bruised chest, staring off in the direction the two ghost-animals had raced. "What the…" Shaking my head dismally, then stopping _that_ action when a wave of nausea ripped through me, I decided that getting out of the area would be a good choice at this point. Forget about the snake and the wolf-thing.

_\- ? -_

"I'm coming, I'm coming," I muttered, taking a painfully deep breath and stumbling a little. "Give me a break, stupid light."

As I headed through the darkened shadows of the maze, trying to stay quiet and listen for any more attackers, I gritted my teeth and thought through my list of things that were 'wrong'. One was that my emotions were going haywire; they were almost overpoweringly strong at times, but yet not at others. It had to have something to do with this strange half-human/half-ghost state that I was stuck in – almost like I suddenly had access to _ghost_ emotions… which my parents would definitely disagree with. They didn't think ghosts had any emotions, much less ones that were stronger ones human emotions.

_The ghost light bobbed and dipped, zipping over the head of the slow-moving hybrid. Left, right, left, right, free! A large double door appeared out of the darkness as the light swirled through the air._

And then there was _that_.

What in the world could possibly be happening to cause those 'visions', I didn't have a clue. Suddenly being able to talk (kind of) to the ghost lights was weird, creepy, and slowly driving me insane. They cut into my thoughts without any sort of warning. The whole situation did seem vaguely familiar though, in a strange sort of way. Three fights ago – back when I had chosen to just give up and never fight again – one of the ghost lights from my room had shown me an image of my family.

This was… like that, in a way. Almost like I could see what the ghost lights could see. They could project their thoughts into my head almost like moving, 'living', video cameras. _I wonder if Walker can see through them too…_ The thought that he could watch my every movement made me shudder.

_\- ?! -_

"Yes, I think you're creepy little things," I answered sourly, levitating for a moment to get over a large section of collapsed wall, then turned to the right and headed down the shadowed corridor.

A tail covered in green and red scales suddenly appeared right in front of me, curling around in an attempt to grab me. I ducked and rolled, wincing when my bruised ribs slammed into the uneven ground. "Ghosst child," the snake hissed.

I glanced up. The snake was covered in glowing, emerald blood, seeping out of dozens of cuts and bite-marks on its body and oozing slowly out of an empty eye socket. "You don't look so good," I remarked as I got to my feet and kept backing down the hallway. "What happened to the wolf guy?"

"Bitess'ess, ripss'ess," the ghost snarled. Its tail slammed back across the maze, missing me by inches and colliding with a solid _whump_ against the other wall. Dust rained down around us. "_Killss'ess_."

Well, that answered that question, I suppose. I slipped backwards a few more feet, keeping my eyes securely on the enraged serpent and staying on my toes. If that thing chose to attack, I was going to be ready to defend. No stupid _reptile_ was going to get the better of me.

My eyes started to burn as energy collected around me and made my eyes glow brightly. The desire to fight, to kill, to _destroy_ this thing that was slithering by me grew like a wildfire. It was just some stupid snake – I'd kill it and be on my way. It was a goner anyways; I'd just put it out of its misery and then…

I shook my head fiercely, dragging myself out of that train of thought and fighting the feelings that were swirling around inside of me. "No," I snapped, more to myself than to the snake. The serpent wasn't in my way. I could leave without killing it – I wasn't just some ghost that would let my mind be taken over by emotions.

Mind over matter. Brain over instinct. Flight over fight.

But I still wanted to tear the stupid snake to shreds.

"Ghosst!" the snake shrieked when it finally realized I was slowly edging away from it. "Fight!" It coiled backwards and then flung its long body down the hallway, leaving smears of glowing blood on the walls.

The blades slipped soundlessly out of my arms, accompanied by the cold feeling of metal trickling through my veins. I crouched, eyes burning with power, as I watched the snake slither towards me, blind with its own rage and pain. In my head, I could see what would happen next: a sidestep from me, swinging the blade downward, cutting the snake's head off even as its momentum carried the rest of the body beyond me.

"No," I whispered, my body shaking as I struggled to gain control of myself. I _could_ kill the snake – that didn't mean I had to.

I'd killed that human woman without thought, lost to the ghostly emotions that were flooding through me. I had actually felt like I had been doing the world a _favor_ by destroying a worthless human. She hadn't stood a chance.

I hadn't had a choice.

Now I did. I _had_ a choice. This was _my_ body, this was _my_ mind, this was _my_ fight. Killing was something I couldn't help – true – but at least it was going to be my _choice_ to kill, rather than some monstrous instinct.

The choice to destroy or not, the ability to choose who would die and who would live… that ability was what set me apart from ghosts like Walker. It would be a _very_ cold day in Hell before I was _anything _like Walker.

"No."

The snake, snarling and roaring in anger and hate, was inches from me before I stepped to its blind side. My arm came up, the impossibly sharp blade glittering in the distant lights of the pit as the snake rushed passed. It would be such a simple thing to slash downwards, to sever its life, to just be _done_ with this idiotic battle. The muscles in my arm twitched.

I wanted to kill it. _Oh, _how I wanted to kill it. Every molecule in my body was screaming at me to move, my heart was pounding at the thought of holding the snake's life in my hands, ghostly blood lust singing in my veins.

But I didn't. I waited until the snake had passed before slowly lowering my arm to my side. The snake slammed head-long into a half-collapsed wall and shrieked in agony before spinning around to face me. Emerald blood splattered in every direction as the snake's single bloody eye searched for me in the shadows.

Suddenly, I was back in control of myself. The impossibly strong desire to kill vanished as quickly as it had arrived, leaving me a little weak in the knees. I took a deep breath, flinched at a sharp pain that zapped through my chest, then took a single step forwards.

The snake, lost to the instincts I had just fought against, caught sight of me. "Diess'ess!" it screamed. Again it attacked, flinging itself straight at me.

I needed to take it out of the picture, but I refused to kill it. This wasn't my fight. The snake's death wasn't on my shoulders. I wasn't _anything _like Walker – killing just because it was convenient or because of some age-old instinct to destroy. The snake was going to live through this fight.

I took a small step to the side, my blade raised, and it flicked out when the giant serpent slithered to within a foot of my body. Just for a moment, I saw the surprise and rage in the snake's remaining good eye before my blade sliced through its eye socket.

Completely blind and curling around itself in pain, the snake hissed and snarled and buried its bloody head in its coils. I stood still for a moment, watching the impossibly huge reptile. "Sorry," I said softly, turning to head towards the exit. The snake was as good as dead.

_\- ? -_

The tiny blue ghost light, Sophie's light, glittered and danced above me as I turned the last corner, headed towards the exit. I clenched my teeth. "I hate this."

* * *

I stumbled through the doorway, the ghost light swirling over my head, glaring darkly at the guard that was holding the door open for me. The greenish deputy met my gaze for a moment before jerking his head silently towards the other door. Despite my better judgment, I looked.

Lounging against the door frame, the warden stared at me with his shrunken-raisin eyes. He pursed his lips as his gaze traveled over me, the rustling sound of his dry skin filling the small room. My brain annoyingly supplied me with images of the torture Walker had put me through earlier and I had to stomp down on the desire to run back into the pit I'd just left. Shivering slightly at the way Walker was staring at me, I made the blades vanish, crossed my arms over my aching ribs, and twisted my fear into a dark glare. I was not going to go curl up in a corner… no matter how much I wanted to right then. "What do you want," I snapped, pleased that my voice didn't shake.

"Don't speak to me like that," Walker snarled softly, tapping his stick against his leg. "I'll have to keep a closer eye on you – you seem to be forgetting my rules."

"Rules-smules," I muttered softly, glancing away from him and taking a deep breath to steady myself. It wouldn't be good for him to see the fear in my eyes. "What about the one ghost per fight thing?"

My gaze flickered to him just long enough to see Walker's face twist into a cruel parody of a smile before fixing my eyes back on the floor. "You should have left the pit quicker and not stood there playing charades with that idiot Skulker. I fail to see how that is my fault." I heard him move and froze when I felt his fingers dig into the skin of my chin and wrench my head up. "You, punk, have lost the fear you used to have when I walked past you, haven't you."

Walker couldn't have been farther from the truth. My stomach was twisting in on itself, terror coiling in my chest as I remembered what usually happened when Walker and I had a 'chat'. It always involved me curled up on the ground in a lot of pain. I narrowed my eyes, my mouth moving without my brain's help as I tried to keep him from seeing the effect he was having on me. "Sure, whatever you say." I should have left it at that, but I couldn't stop the words from tumbling from my mouth in a sarcastic parody of what he'd just said to me. I wanted to hurt him, to cut into him, to finally be a player in this game of mental chess rather than just a pawn. "You, Walker, have lost the key you used to have, haven't you."

Furious comprehension flared in the warden's eyes as I berated myself. What a _stupid_ thing to say: now Walker knew that I knew about the key and it didn't seem to hurt him nearly as much as I had hoped. His crackled fingernails dug into my face as his grip tightened. "What did you say…" he breathed, trembling with rage.

I couldn't speak due to Walker's tightening grip on my jaw, so I narrowed my eyes further and contented myself with taunting him that way. I could feel the fear clawing at me, but terror wasn't as much of a motivator as it used to be after you've been some of through the things I've been through the past few weeks. Months. Whatever. A simple threat wasn't going to get answers out of me.

Walker screamed in inarticulate anger and tossed me into one of the walls, my head jangling painfully when it connected with the thick stone. I pushed myself to my feet, my blades slipping out of my arms, ready to attack. This was it, I was going to kill Walker and just be done with the whole damned thing right now. I don't care what plans Skulker or the rat had in place – I wanted out of this insane place and here was my chance.

Fury sparkled in my brain, swirling around every tortured memory I had of the Pits and cascading into an unstoppable force. My arm slammed out, the star silver blade slicing through the air towards Walker's throat. Walker's shriveled eyes widened…

Pain scorched through me as the leathery collar around my neck activated. Agonized screams forced themselves from my throat as my attack was cut off in mid-swing and I collapsed to the floor. When it was over, mere instants that felt like hours, I was lying panting on the ground, my body trembling with aftershocks of pain.

"Don't even think about it, punk," Walker hissed. I caught a momentary view of his face before the stick he'd been carrying whistled through the air and slammed into my stomach. Breath was forced from my lungs and I struggled get a mouthful of oxygen. "Nobody attacks me and _nobody _steals what is mine."

I coughed. "Except me," I rasped as soon as I could get a breath.

Walker knelt down beside me, his stick pressing into the ground inches from my nose. "One must speak up when spoken to," he snapped. Then the thick piece of wood snapped out and banged against my nose. He dragged me off the ground and slammed me into the wall, holding me so that my feet weren't touching the ground. "Stupid half-ghost punk."

I hacked up a mouthful of the blood that was pooling in the back of my throat and spat it into his face. It glowed with an eerie combination of green and red. "Leave me alone."

Wiping the glob off his face with an audible growl, Walker put one hand around my throat and pressed me against the wall. "You will show respect to those more powerful than you," he snarled, "that's the law."

"What are you going to do, kill me?" I chocked, struggling to remove Walker's hand from my throat.

"Worse…" Walker stepped up to me, his eyes inches from mine. I could see every wrinkle and crease in his skull-like face, the fury in the set of his mouth. I'm sure he could see the fear that was in my gaze. "Until I get my knife back, I welcome you to a new level of Hell, punk."

He twisted around, tossing me across the room with a lazy heave. Before I could catch my balance in the air and turn the throw into an attack, Walker had a tiny box in his hand. "N…" Agony flared being all around me as the collar sparked to life and sent me whirling into blackness.

* * *

My first thought when I woke up was, _I'm sick of waking up in pain!, _and then the rolling agony that was my body overrode any other thoughts that might have germinated in my brain. I just lay there, eyes closed, unmoving, for a long moment as I tried to adjust to the pain. After a bit, it occurred to me that I wouldn't have woken up on my own like this; something had to have woken me up. And that it might be a good idea to find out what.

Tiny claws bit into my cheek before I could summon the energy to open my eyes. "Go away," I mumbled to the rat – or at least I think I did. I hurt too much to really care what I said.

"It's time to train," his annoying voice chirped into my ear. "Get up."

I wedged one eye open and sent a pain-filled glare at the rodent. "I hurt. Go away."

The rat shook its head. "According to the plan we need to start training. You need to get up."

"Later. I hurt." Closing my eye again, I let my thoughts drift as the rat began to rant about his plan and what we were going to do today. The last thing I wanted to do at the moment was anything that involved movement. Sure, I agreed to be trained… but not right now. I could barely move without passing out.

Every _inch _of me hurt – even my brain. It didn't seem to matter what thought I dwelled on; everything was coated in a greasy layer of agony. The best bet, I knew, would be to go back to sleep. But I wasn't sure how to accomplish that with all the aches of my body. Then, strangely, I found a bit of my mind that didn't hurt. It seemed different, somehow – more distant. I reached for it, pleased that I had found _something_ that wasn't a brightly burning nest of agony, and…

_The hybrid relaxed on his cot, the rat still sitting by his ear chattering away, as the ghost lights danced overhead. Suddenly, the rat tensed and moved forwards, prying open one of the boy's eyes. "Hybrid?" the rat asked softly, confusion lacing his voice. The hybrid's eyes, glowing with the light of the ghost lights, stared forwards blankly. "No…" The rat panicked. Racing up and down the cot, the rat babbled for a moment about the boy needing to wake up. Pausing next to the boy's face long enough to say, "Sorry," he bit down – hard – on the hybrid's broken nose. The boy's body jerked…_

I screamed, flailing out with my arm and dislodging my attacker. A stream of incomprehensible words tumbled from my mouth as I touched my already-abused nose and my fingers came back coated in greenish blood. Blinking tears of pain out of my eyes, I glared at the tiny rodent.

"What did you do?" he asked, his voice laced with fear and his eyes glowing brightly in the dim cell.

I couldn't find words to answer him. With my mind curled in on itself, trying to hide from the pain, I couldn't decide what he was jabbering on about. I didn't really care.

"_What did you do?_" he snapped again.

Still unable to find an answer and unwilling to ask questions, I just shrugged my shoulders and tore my gaze away from his terror-filled eyes. Whatever he was talking about, it apparently wasn't a good thing.

The rat was silent for a long few minutes. "Don't… don't do it again," he whispered. Then he jumped off my cot without another word and vanished, training apparently forgotten.

I hesitated a moment before lowering myself back onto my cot, closing my eyes, and doing my best to fall back asleep. Compared to what _else_ I'd been through during my stay in the Pits, that little exchange didn't rate too highly on the scale of 'weird'. Besides, I hurt too much to care. _I'd kill for some Vicodin or some Tylenol-3 right now…_

* * *

At some point I did manage to fall asleep. The next time I woke up, I wasn't in a substantially better mood. Being in less pain helped and not having an annoying, talking rat digging its claws into my face _definitely_ helped… but I was still in a horrible mood. Walker had just tortured me, again, and I couldn't find a single reason to smile. Not that I'd really smiled in awhile – I probably had forgotten how.

After dragging my still-aching body out of cot, I dug my fingers into the cracks around the loose stone, prying open the tiny, hidden compartment to dig out Walker's knife. "Serves him right to lose the darned thing," I muttered darkly as I dropped the stone to the ground and pulled out the shiny bit of metal, studying the object that was causing me so much pain and not being very impressed by it. "Stupid, rusty old knife."

If I had my way, Walker would never get his bloody knife back. After years of ghost hunting, I was good at turning terror into useful anger, and whatever fear Walker was managing to inspire in me was working against him. His towering presence only gave me more of a reason to keep the thing from him, not hand it over.

Anger suddenly boiled over in my mind. For a brief second I fought against it, but then I mentally shrugged and gave in. I deserved to be angry – I had been tortured, I was frustrated, I was confused, and I was a little scared. I had every right to be furiously _angry_.

My eyes glowed with energy as that overpowering rage swirled through my mind. I clenched my fingers tightly around the knife, then stormed over to the door, muttering darkly under my breath. The thought crossed my mind that I needed to calm down or I'd so something I regretted, but it was a quiet thought that kept to the dark, barely used corners of my brain. I leaned against the heavy, scorched wood of the door for a moment, listening. When no sounds reached my ears, I touched the door with the point of the knife. A thick _clunk_ of the lock met my ears.

With a small growl, I kicked the door open and strode out into the empty hallway. _Welcome to a new level of Hell_… I was truly sick of being tossed around like a rag doll and waking up in blazing amounts of pain. I was tired of never knowing what was going on. I was frustrated at how much I was being put through for some mysterious 'plan', and there was no way I was sticking around to see what Walker had in store for me. Hero and selfless sacrifice could go to burn in a pit of hellfire and brimstone. I didn't sign up for this. "I'm done. This isn't worth it."

I closed the door behind me, glaring angrily at the bloody '13' painted on my door, reveling in the furious power that was thrumming through me. Thirteen people dead at my hands. Thirteen fights. Thirteen murders. Thirteen reasons to leave this place and never look back.

Each door I passed made my heart skip a beat, even through my supernatural cloud of fury, knowing that I was sealing the doom of whatever being was locked behind them. But I never paused. I was getting out of here and I figured that if anyone else had the option, they'd do the exact same thing. Whatever commitments I'd made earlier of staying and trying to rescue people and destroy the Pits were out of my head. I'd find some other way of stopping Walker that _didn't_ involve me voluntarily being tortured. I'd get free, then I'd come back with reinforcements.

As I stormed through the dark corridors with no real idea of where I was going, just thankful to be moving and on my way out of Walker's clutches, the paranormal fury that had sparked my dramatic escape from my room slowly began to fade away. It took more energy than I had to maintain that level of rage for long. A blue bat brushed my hair at one point and I saw a half-dozen small ghost rats slinking through the shadows. Tiny glowing bugs crawled out from under my feet every few steps. Finally my movement turned from a powerful stride to a more cautious walk, drifting through the corridors, paying more attention to what was around me, and taking the time to peer around corners before I walked past them. More dark, empty hallways lined with heavy wooden doors.

Licking my lips as the last of my anger melted away, I wondered if I was doing the right thing after all. The rat seemed to have some sort of plan to get me out of here – and not just me, but _everyone_. All of the innocent ghosts and humans that Walker had thrown into this hellish place. I wasn't even sure that I could find my way out, even if I tried. Could I get out without help?

Was this split-second decision escape attempt basic suicide?

Now, walking quietly down the hallway, I felt less like an avenging and righteous escapee and more like a lost idiot wandering randomly to his death. I had _no_ idea where I was going, what was going to happen when I got wherever I was going to end up, or how to get out the Pits. The only thing I really knew was that when Walker found me out of my cell with his knife, I was dead. And it was going to be slow and painful.

On top of everything, I had no idea how the Pits really worked. After weeks of being locked up in here, I had really no clue about how to get out of it. I had no information other than fight and live, stop fighting and die.

It was a dismal realization, to say the least. Even I knew that the best way to defeat someone was to learn as much about them as you could – Vlad had taught me that much at least. With pure ignorance on my side, my chances of beating Walker, escaping, or even _surviving _dropped like a rock.

As I set off down one of the side corridors, wondering if I should turn back and talk to the stupid rat again, I walked as softly as I could and listened for footsteps. A lot of the ghost guards didn't have feet – thus didn't walk – but my only chance of staying out of their way was to hear them coming. I didn't want to get seen or caught and a ghost sense doesn't work very well when you're constantly surrounded by hundreds of ghosts. I was so constantly bombarded by the deep-seated chills running down my back that I'd stopped noticing them weeks ago.

Coming to the end of a relatively short passage after only a minute, I hesitated. Should I just go back? This vague 'plan' the rat had was probably my best bet at getting out of the Pits alive. Either that, or wait for Skulker's grand 'plan' – whatever that was. It would probably end with me being a pelt on a wall, but even that had to be better than this. But I had already gone so far down the hallways…

Deciding to go a bit farther and see what I could find, I turned to the left and slunk down the dark corridor. The cell numbers on the doors were growing progressively smaller, which I took as a sign that I might be headed towards some sort of exit. Maybe it would be an exit that wasn't be well guarded. I could – and would – fight my way out of this hellhole, but I wasn't sure how much of a fight I was up to. If the opportunity presented itself, I could get out of here, get help, then come back and save people. That would be even better than sticking around.

Lost in my thoughts, I turned down one of the short side corridors without looking first and froze. A figure was standing shrouded in darkness, two gleaming eyes staring straight at me. "Phantom!"

Cold metal trickled down my arms and the blades slithered into existence as I tensed, mentally categorizing the obstacle. Human, based off the emotions that fluttered around it, probably male and not much older than me. He wouldn't put up much of a fight. I crouched; he couldn't shout a warning – I'd be dead before breakfast. If I had to kill him, I would.

"I didn't know you could get out of your room!" the figure continued softly, taking a step forwards and flicking on a flashlight. I squinted, my eyes quickly adjusting to the barrage of light aimed straight towards me. I recognized him; the younger version of Former that had confused me earlier… whatever his name was. "I was going down to sneak some food out of the kitchens. They forgot to bring some food today – the ghosts forget a lot, you know – and I'm hungry. You want to come with?"

I blinked when he turned the light away from me to sweep it through the hallways. "I…"

"Sorry about scaring you. Last time they caught me out of my room after curfew I got in really big trouble. Gory had to do a lot of work to keep me out of a pit fight and I didn't want to get caught again. But I'm hungry and Gory snuck out too so he can't complain too much."

I took a small step away from him. The blades vanished from my arms in a wash of cold and I licked my lips. I wasn't hungry, not really. I was more interested in finding… I wasn't sure what I was looking for anymore. An exit? My own cell? "I'm…"

He grabbed my hand, blinking in surprise. "Geez, your hand feels weird. It's too cold, but it's not cold enough, if that makes sense. Come on; I know you're hungry. I'll show you where the kitchens are," he rambled, starting to pull me in the direction I was trying to head anyways.

With a mental shrug, I allowed him to tow me along and listened to him whisper. "I like how they instituted this curfew idea, there's no guards patrolling the hallways. A few years ago they didn't have curfew and there were always guards everywhere and you couldn't sneak out of your room at _all_ without being caught and..."

"You sneak out a lot?" I broke in to his monologue.

He didn't seem to care that I'd interrupted. "Pretty much. The ghosts forget that time passes quicker for humans and that we need to be fed. All the humans that work here sneak into the kitchens all the time."

He took a breath, but I snuck in another question, deciding to scan the endless dark hallways for a door that looked like it led outside. Knowing where the exit was would come in handy. "How long has it been, since the fight I was in?"

Glancing at me, he grinned. "Four days, almost. When was the last time you ate something?"

I shrugged, hesitating before a door with no number written on it, but he just pulled me past with a shake of his head. "Before the fight, I guess," I mumbled.

"You can go that long without eating?" His eyes were wide.

"I dunno," I answered. Obviously I _could_, whether or not it was good for me was another question.

"That doesn't sound like a good idea to me. No wonder you look so sick and pale. I'll try to remember to bring you food from now on. I sneak out every couple of days to grab some stuff that looks edible. There's three chefs, you know, and beware the green one. She's got seven-inch fingernails, although they come in handy when you need a haircut. Gory says I need to be careful, though, 'cause she's a combination of Edward Scissor-hands and Sweeny Todd. No idea who either one of them are, but if you catch her on a Monday she's usually okay. I think she died on a Monday…"

I tuned him out as he started to ramble off on a tangent about the three chefs and why it was best to avoid each one of them. "Do you know how to get out of here?" I asked suddenly while he was extolling on the horrors of the French chef.

He hesitated. "I know where the front doors are, yes," he said slowly after a moment. "But you can't go through them."

"Why not?"

"The collars." He lifted his chin and pulled down the collar of his shirt and I saw, for the first time, that he had a collar around his neck. "I know, only ghosts are supposed to wear them, but humans that have free reign of the Pits get them too. It's to keep us where we're supposed to be. If we leave the fighters' area without permission they automatically trigger, and if we actually leave the Pits with them on…" He shuddered. "I saw a guy do that once, walk out the front door during the fights. He figured death would be better than the kind of life he had locked in here."

I sighed. That didn't bode well. This was the _exact _reason having information was such a good idea before storming off in an attempt to escape. Walking out the door was instant death. _Excellent. _"Do you know how to get them off?"

He shook his head, stopping in front of a door that looked just like all the others. "This one's the kitchen." He gestured to it with his chin before reaching out and opening the door. "It's not locked. The chef with the fingernails knows we sneak in to get food and she leaves it open for us, most days, when she remembers. Come on."

Watching him walk into the dismal shadows that hid the Pit's kitchens, I glanced around the deserted hallway. All the doors looked the same to me and, if my new companion was correct, I wouldn't be able to walk out the door even if I could find it. It looked like I was going to end up back in my cell, waiting for either the rat or a ghost who wanted to hang my pelt on a wall to save me. "Bogus," I muttered darkly in an unconscious imitation of my Dad.

"Come on, help me carry some stuff," he called softly, turning his flashlight back towards the door to see me still standing there. "We won't get in trouble, I promise."

I sighed and stepped into the large room, which was barely lit by the flashlight. If I couldn't get out tonight, I figured I should make this trip as useful as possible: find out more information. "Do you know any other way of getting out of here?" I asked softly as I walked towards him. Large, industrial and modern stoves lined one wall and huge bowls – big enough for a person to sit inside – were hung over medieval-style fireplaces along another. There were some large metal tables in the way, but I just walked through them.

The young man grinned at me. "I know _something_," he answered with a smile, "but that kind of knowledge needs to be paid for."

"Something useful?" I held out my hands as he loaded my arms with loaves of what looked like green-glowing French bread and a few jars of a blue-glowing sauce.

He raised an eyebrow in response. "You get what you pay for, that's what the ghosts say. You'll have to decide if it's worth it. In the mean time, carry that bread back to my room for me, I'll let you have some too. Gory hates that kind of bread, but I like and I'm the one sneaking so he can just eat it." His arms full of food that glowed either green, blue, or red, he started to head back towards the door. "Mine and Gory's rooms aren't very far away. You caught me just as I was sneaking out. I'm kind of surprised you didn't run into my brother – he didn't leave very much ahead of me."

"I wanted to try to escape," I muttered to myself as I followed him, "not that it's going to happen tonight… but I don't want to stay around here, not with Walker's newest threat hanging over my head."

"I heard about that," he said softly, kicking the door shut after I stepped out into the hallway. "Walker's ticked at you and he's taking it out on anyone he can find. You should see Gory's black eye he got yesterday for having his shoes tied wrong." He met my gaze for a moment, his eyes calm and blue and making a shiver run down my back. "And you know you're not going to escape, not tonight. You're here to save us or do something…" he trailed off, then blinked and looked away. "Besides, you can't escape the Pits with brute force – it's been tried. Walker's got too many safeguards in place to do that. You need to be _smart_."

"And your information will help me?" I wondered. I sighed, my heart sinking at the thought of Walker's 'life will be a living hell' threat. What was I going to do? I wasn't going to just sit around and _let_ Walker torture me!

He smiled and nodded. "The more you know, the farther you'll go. The farther you go, the more you'll grow. The more you grow, the more you'll know."

"That makes no sense." But I stepped in line behind him and tailed him back to his room as he began to ramble.

"The numbers on the doors, they show how many Pit fights the person inside has won. Or lost, as the case may be. See, each person's got a clipboard by their door too, and that says their rank. The closer to the beginning of the alphabet, the stronger the ghost and the more likely that ghost will win his or her fight. Lots of the ghosts that come to bet on the fights use those numbers kind of like odds, playing for or against the stronger one. Most of these ghosts right along here aren't fighters, actually, they're the workers like Gory and I. The humans live here too."

"I knew that," I said softly.

He twisted around to grin at me. "Most people know that, I'm just giving you the grand tour. That," he gestured with his chin at a set of double-doors, "is Gory's office – the room with all the books that you go into right before a fight. He does a lot of the calculating the odds for the fights and he does some of the matching of fighters too. A lot of it is random, though, and not even my brother always knows who everyone will be fighting. And _that_," he gestured at the room across the hall, "is a room you never want to see the inside of, trust me."

"What's in there?"

Shuddering, he just shook his head. "I hope you never find out. I was put in there once, a long time ago. It was one of the first rooms I ever saw, and I still have nightmares about it."

I hesitated in front of it. "Is there a way out in there?"

"For the people that go in," he answered softly, waiting for me a bit down the hallway. "But almost nobody ever comes back out, and no – you can't escape through there. Not and live through it, anyways. It's just a room. Come on."

"So this information," I asked, catching up to him, "what kind of payment would it be?"

"Info for info," he smiled, glancing over his shoulder at the room we'd just passed. "You answer me one question, _truthfully –_ any question I want."

After a moment, I nodded my agreement. He knew most of my secrets anyway, somehow. He knew I had Walker's knife and he knew I was trying to escape… so I couldn't figure out what more he could get that he could use against me. "Deal. Now talk."

"Here," he announced, setting down his load of food to dig a key out of his pocket. The door had 'Gory and Mica Former' scratched onto it like a hand-carved nameplate. I rolled my eyes. _Mica._ I finally had the name. He pushed open the door and told me to go in while he picked his armload of food off the ground.

I stared around the tiny apartment with surprise. I was expecting a room sort of like mine, but this was an actual _apartment – _minus the windows. They had a couch and a chair, a table and a rug, and a few doors that probably led off into other rooms. Mica grinned when he saw my expression. Dumping the food on the table, he asked, "You want a cup of water? We got a water filter a few years ago so the water is pretty good."

I nodded and my food joined the stuff on the table, creating a glowing mound of edibles. Mica handed me a cup of water and picked through the food for a moment, choosing one of the loaves of bread and a jar of blue sauce. He tore off two pieces of bread, opened the jar, and offered me a slice. "This junk is kind of like jelly, Gory says, and I think it's pretty good." Smiling, he dunked his chunk of bread into the jar and took a bite. "It's interesting having a visitor, we don't get many… 'cept for L'Jai."

"LJ? The rat?" I wondered. I dunked my piece of break into the blue sauce and tried it. It tasted a lot like blueberry jam – jam the consistency of soup – but it wasn't half-bad.

Mica nodded, his eyes sparkling as he started to divulge the information I had just 'bought'. "L'Jai comes to talk to me pretty often. He knows all sorts of secret passages through the Pits – it's his home, you know. He was born in the city and he died during its collapse. He's some sort of guardian."

I took a sip of water and raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue, wanting to hear more about the mysterious rat.

"The Pits is part of Atlantis, or so my brother thinks. Vanished into nothingness in a day and night of cataclysm – that was when L'Jai died – only to reappear as a doorway in the Ghost Zone centuries later. Gory thinks that the Pits is just a small part of the ancient city and that the rest of it is out there. He's right; that's where L'Jai vanishes to."

"Under my cot," I muttered in surprise.

Mica's eyes glittered. "The third portal is in your room? Oh that's _perfect_! I've always wanted to see L'Jai's city. The trick would be to figuring out how to get through the portal, but I'm sure you could do that somehow. L'Jai told me that each doorway has a separate key. He's never told me where they are, but I know where two of them are anyways. Walker's key – the one you've got – opens the door to the Ghost Zone, and the second portal is in one of the pits."

I blinked, my mind working through that information. Three portals; one main door to the Ghost Zone, one under my cot that leads to this 'Altantis', and one in the Pits that leads to… the human world? "How do you know that?"

"I've been everywhere in the Pits," Mica said with a slightly feral grin as he dropped unceremoniously into one of the old kitchen chairs and tore off another chunk of the bread we'd appropriated from the kitchen, "I've seen just about everything – including all of Gory's fight ledgers – and talked to just about every ghost that's worked here. Ever since Gory told me about his theory of the three portals I've been trying to figure out where they are. Think about it. There's one ghost who always manages to vanish and reappear back in the human world and the missing portal is the one that's rumored to lead to the human world."

Connections clicked in my head. "The Box Ghost…"

"Exactly! I told Gory, but I don't think he believed me. He's not sure about the talking rat either, since L'Jai refuses to talk to him, but I _know_ I'm right. I know that's the ticket out of this place if I only knew how to get through the portal. You don't know how the Box Ghost gets through the portal, do you?"

I shook my head.

"Darn." He frowned and sank back into his chair with a scowl. "I was really hoping that you might have some ideas. See, my brother's up to something…"

The door clicked and we both whirled to stare at it, my heart neatly stopping in my chest. If Walker caught me outside of my room and with his knife in my hand I was going to be _filleted, _and Mica would probably be seconds behind me_._ The door swung open with a creak and I let out a sharp breath when Former stalked into the room. "Stupid, idiot, insane doctor…" he trailed off when his gaze fell on me. "Phantom?"

"Hi," I said with a small wave, feeling my heat restart.

"What are you doing here?"

"I invited him," Mica jumped in, literally jumping out of his chair, babbling nervously. "He wanted to know more about the Pits – you know, history and stuff and you've told me a lot of it and I knew you were busy so I thought that I'd tell him and not really bother you –"

Former closed his eyes and sighed, cutting off his brother's train of thought. "Fine, Mica, whatever." He glanced over at me, then down at the food-covered table. "The fights are about to start for the day and this place will be swarming with people in a few minutes. You might want to head back to your room before it gets busy."

I nodded, still feeling my heart beating too fast. "Yeah, okay," I said, slipping towards the door as he walked off into a different room.

"Wait!" Mica stepped in front of me right before I grabbed the door knob to leave. "I haven't told you everything – I'll come find you later – but you've still got to do your part of the deal. I told you about the rat and the portal, now you have to answer my question."

I hesitated, glancing at the door. "What question?"

"This is your fourteenth fight. You get another wish – what are you going to wish for?"

I shrugged, wondering why he cared. "I don't know. I hadn't thought about it."

"Take a guess. Come on," Mica grinned, "it's payment for information."

With a small sigh, I cast around in my head for the first image that popped into my mind: the image of the girl with the red notebook I'd seen earlier. "A notebook and a pencil," I said, "so I can write this whole convoluted story down and maybe figure some of it out."

"That's a good wish," Mica nodded, "and after _that_ you're going to save us all, right?"

I snorted softly. "I'm not sure I can save anyone."

"Sure you can, you're a superhero, right?" He raised an eyebrow. "You're here to save us."

"I'm not a superhero; go find Spiderman or Batman or something. And I'm pretty sure I'm here to die rather than to save people. Can I leave?"

"Who?" Mica said blankly, but he moved out of my way and opened the door for me, thrusting two loaves of bread and a jar of the blue jam-sauce into my hands. "And you _are_ here to save people – that's all in the _plan_." He winked at me as I stepped around him and into the hallway. "Besides, we don't need to find someone else. We've got the great Danny Phantom, don't we?" Then he slammed the door shut before I could get in another word.

For a moment, I stood in the dark hallway just shaking my head and trying to clear my thoughts. I _could_ still escape; I could still _try. _If I headed towards the front door, I'd be free or I'd be dead, one or the other, depending on whether or not the kid's information was correct. I'd definitely try to run for it… but I wasn't ready to die yet.

Finally it became clear I'd hesitated for too long. I could hear voices down the corridor. With a small groan, I turned in the opposite direction and headed back to my room, my thoughts dismally full of the things that Walker was going to bring down on me. I was walking, willfully, back to my cell to await torture.

That thought _really _stung. With those dismal thoughts accompanying me on the trip, it was only a few minutes before I was staring at my door – room 143 – with tears in my eyes. Slowly, I reached for the door marred with a bloody thirteen, pulled it open, walked inside, and locked it behind me.

* * *

"Hybrid?"

I groaned, burying my head deeper into the thin pillow at the querulous voice. I'd been back in my room for, at best, thirty minutes and I was trying really hard to get back to sleep. Not that it was working – my brain felt like it was on overdrive, spinning around thoughts of these mysterious 'plans' to get free, what few facts I knew about the place, various escape ideas, and, best of all, Walker's imminent threat of torture.

It was like spinning my wheels in mud. I was getting nowhere and feeling more and more helpless and doomed by the second. The addition of the rat into my thoughts only made them spiral worse. The rodent never explained anything, leaving me to just trust him. "Go. Away."

"We need to train."

"No." I refused to look up from my spot, lying face-down on my cot. "Go away."

I heard a soft scratching noise as the rodent jumped onto the hard bed a few moments before a tiny paw pressed into the skin of my arm. "Why not?" he asked. For some reason, he sounded almost scared… concerned.

That did it. I looked up, studying the rat and debating whether or not I should answer. More than a little of me was _very_ willing to just put my head down and continue repeating 'go away' in a very childish manner until he left. But I decided, after a moment of internal arguing, to actually answer. It wasn't the full answer, but it was one I could tell the rat. "Because I'm tired of being left in the dark. I'm tired of being tortured. I'm not going to just _sit_ here and do _nothing_ and _let_ someone hurt me." I narrowed my eyes to a hard glare and I knew my eyes were glowing.

The rat flinched a little and I had to bite back the intensely happy feeling that flooded through me, too strong to be believed, at that small sign of his distress. His head dropped to stare at the ground and he opened his mouth to say something, no doubt about his stupid _plan_, but frustration, anger, and fear were spinning too quickly inside of me. Suddenly I was drowning in my own emotions, unable to make them stop. I struggled with my thoughts, clawing at them to get them back to normal, but it wasn't any use. They bubbled out of me, out of control once again. "I'm _fifteen!"_ I shouted, "I'm not some hero out of a comic book that can take everything with a smile and think it'll be alright. _Look at me."_

He glanced up, his sapphire eyes fixing unhappily on my face. "Look at me," I continued sourly, "I'm a hybrid-thing-freak, I'm hungry, I'm exhausted, I'm a _murderer_ for crying out loud, and now I'm going to be _tortured._ What is it you want me to do?" Distantly, I was aware that my powers were acting up, feeding off of my raging emotions. Water was freezing into ice and an almost tangible cloud of furious energy had formed around me. I was too frustrated to care.

"I don't know…" the rat whispered, unable to look at me anymore.

"I want to go home," I snarled, closing my eyes and shaking my head. "I just want to go home."

Silence stretched between us as I struggled to regain control of my suddenly haywire emotions. Deep breaths, my arms clenched tightly around my chest, trying to calm myself before I did something I regretted. Slowly, I felt myself returning to normal.

"I know you're angry," he said suddenly, my eyes snapping open to study him. "I know you're scared. I know you want to go home." Under his breath he added, "Trust me, I know."

"Then how do you expect me to just sit here and do nothing?" I asked, my voice quieter and less powerful than it had been. "I'm not going to wait around for Walker to turn this… this… _life_ into Hell."

The rat shook his head. "I don't know. All I've got is the plan." He looked up at me. "All I can give you is the hope and the dream that you're doing the right thing and that everyone will be better for it when you're done. And the promise that I'm trying my hardest to get you out of here as fast as I can."

I knew he was telling me the truth… but only _part_ of the truth. "I don't want to be left in the dark," I said. "Tell me. Talk to me."

I knew how to escape this place without his help – somewhat. I could get out that door if I could get this collar off and nothing would be able to stop me. There was no need to trust a plan I didn't know. The rat needed to talk to me if he wanted me to go along with his plan.

But only silence met my demand. He seemed to be willing to look everywhere but into my eyes.

"Either tell me or just leave."

"What do you want to know?"

I could barely hear him, but as soon as the words registered in my brain, questions flooded into life. Just as I opened my mouth to ask, my cursed bad luck suddenly reared its head and the door to my cell slammed open at the worst possible moment.

Both of us froze, me staring down at the rat for a split second. Fear, worry, and annoyance curled softly in my head, but my unstable emotions chose that moment to act up. Pure, unbridled anger surged through me, causing my eyes to burn as energy coursed around me.

I twisted a little to glare at the guard standing in the doorway, a mote of pleasure surfacing in me at the startled look in his eyes and his small step backwards. "No," I snapped at him, startled at how furious I was.

"Don't have a choice," the guard muttered, his hand going down to finger the shock box at his waist.

"Go away." Surrounded by how impossibly enraged I was at his intrusion into my conversation, I could distantly feel the temperature of my cell drop as my temper simmered and stoked my ghost powers.

The guard was harshly shoved aside and the warden himself appeared, his body swollen with power until his eyes were barely visible beyond the charred door frame. "Move it, punk," he snarled, "or you won't live to see tomorrow."

I glared at him, fury curling around in my chest for a few long moments before I slowly stood up and stalked towards him. Almost drunk on the unnatural anger I was feeling, I stormed straight up to Walker, fixed my gaze straight into his raisin eyes, and said, "Make me."

In hindsight, this wasn't the smartest of plans in the world, but I wasn't thinking straight at the time. Pain flared as the collar sparkled to life. It chased away that strange, powerful rage and, strangely, it cleared my head. When the agonizing feeling faded to a dull background ache, I actually felt _better_.

Somewhere between the thought that I was obviously a little more crazy than I had originally figured and the question of why Walker had chosen to come visit me in my cell, I remembered the rat. Walker knew about the rodent and, for some reason, seemed to despise the creature. I glanced back at the cot, wondering how the warden would react when he spotted the rat sitting on my bed.

The cot was empty. If the rat was still there, he was as invisible as a ghost. Way to stick around and be of some help.

"Get up and walk or get knocked out and carried."

It wasn't that I doubted if the crazy warden would carry out his threat – and it definitely wasn't that I _wanted_ to get shocked into unconsciousness again – but my mouth ran away from me. The volts of electricity had finally succeeded in scrambling my brain. I looked up at him from where I was kneeling on the floor, my eyes fixing on that annoying little box with the button that activated the collar around my neck before flitting up to his face. "When I could get this stupid collar off, I'm going to kill you."

I asked for it – I really did. I had just enough time to snap my eyes shut and curse my stupid mouth before Walker's stick slammed into the base of my skull.

In a bright flash of pain, everything went dark.

* * *

_Ouch, ouch, ouch, _"Ohhh..." I didn't dare open my eyes until my stomach stopped its incessant churning – which wasn't being helped _at all_ by the fact that I was being unceremoniously half-dragged, half-carried to some unknown destination. _Something_ was drilling into my skull like a mob of nail guns and it took me a moment to realize that it was sound… lots of sound… cheering and screaming types of sounds.

It took me another few moments to realize why that left such an ominous feeling in the pit of my stomach. I tried to open my eyes to see where I was, but the world tilted angrily and what little I'd eaten earlier surged up my throat. I was dropped to the ground in mid-heave, coughing and spitting as I felt the ground twist and churn underneath me.

"Ew," a human voice muttered. "Those who follow in your footsteps will be _so_ thankful for that."

I spit a few more times to try and get the taste of the bile out of my mouth. "Welcome," I croaked, wincing in pain at the sound of my own voice.

"Concussion?" the too-loud voice asked sympathetically.

I would have nodded if the mere _thought_ of movement didn't make me want to pass out. I chose to moan instead.

"Bad timing. Walker's just instituted some new rules about group fighting. You've got a partner for this fight – a kid named Jeremiah Higgins – and you two are going up against the worst the Pits can throw at you. Both B-class, high level ghosts."

Groaning, I focused on opening my eyes _without_ throwing up. The sandy ground was burry and bright underneath my hands.

"Come on, get up." I felt two hands under my arms, pulling me upwards. In a nauseating feat of strength, the human got my arm around his shoulders and held me in an almost-upright position. "Fight starts in about twenty seconds – we've got to keep moving."

"Fight?" I whispered, dread swirling through me at the thought of where we were heading. Or, based on the screams of the crowd, where we already _were_.

"Yup," the voice sighed. "Don't die on me in this fight, okay? I've got a killer plan to get all of us free and I need your help."

My pain-addled brain swirled around that thought. "You 'n everyone else," I slurred unhelpfully. Skulker, the rat, my parents – unless they were just dreams, which was possible – and now this human. I was probably the only one _without_ a plan to get out of the Pits. "Whaz so special 'bout me?"

The voice laughed, a jarring sound that rumbled around in my mind. "There's something special about you, that's all."

"I'm supposed to save _you_," I mumbled as the human – Former? – pulled me to a stop at the starting line. "If you all save _me_, you're gonna ruin the plot."

"Just don't die yet." The hands that had been holding me up suddenly vanished and I dropped to my knees. "Good luck," he said.

I turned my head towards Former's receding figure as a deep voice grated into my aching brain. "That's just how I like my victims… on their knees."

Painfully I turned back to look up… and up… and up into the beady red eyes of the third scariest ghost I'd ever seen.

Which, after you've been through what I have, means a _lot._

* * *

"Escarnio," the ghost boomed. Then his lip curled into a sneer. "And this second-rate loser is my 'partner', Skeeter."

"Second rate? I'll have you know I'm the second highest rated fighter in the Pits." A small ghost – almost child-like – slipped over to his giant partner and glared up at him.

"As I said: second rate." Escarnio's lip curled a bit higher to show off his pointed teeth, his massive forehead wrinkling as he stared down at his tiny partner. Skeeter bristled, energy flooding out of the small form.

Gazing blearily at them, I wondered if the two ghosts would just kill each other off or if I'd have to actually get up. Then a sniffle caught my attention and I turned my head away from the posturing ghosts. It took a moment, but my eyes managed to focus on _my_ partner for this fight. A kid, probably not even seven years old and dressed in an overly-large Pit uniform, kept moving his head and staring at each of us in turn. He had the strangest expression on his all-too-human face; a strange mixture of murder and pure terror.

I felt a beat of protectiveness wash through me before my concussion buried it in a landslide of nausea. It was horribly obvious that there would be no protecting the kid unless I could save myself first; that would require being able to move. Pushing against the ground in an attempt to get myself to my feet, I felt the world sway drunkenly and I had to stop, taking deep breaths to keep myself from passing out.

A horrible feeling of guilt settled over me as I twisted away from my partner. It would be a miracle of I could save _myself_, much less someone else. The kid was doomed. My gaze flickered over to him once more, memorizing what he looked like before focusing back on the arguing ghosts and pushing the boy out of my mind.

A casualty of war. Unavoidable losses. My hands curled into fists in frustrated fury: I was going to kill Walker _slowly_ for this.

"So, which do you want?" The small ghost's voice cut into my thoughts. "The human or the ghost-thing that can't even stand?"

Escarnio snorted. "I'll do the ghost-thing, although this pathetic fight seems beneath me."

"I can do them both," Skeeter chuckled, "that's fine with me." When I glanced over at him, the small ghost had an insane smile on his face. "I'll even do the human first, just to give the ghost-thing a chance to recuperate a bit more."

"Put up _some_ kind of fight?"

Skeeter's crazy grin grew. "Exactly."

It occurred to me that these two strange ghosts were doing all this talking about who would get to kill me and I hadn't said anything on my own behalf. Pushing myself to my _very_ unsteady feet, I fixed a hopefully evil glare on the smaller of the ghosts and tried to get my brain to come up with something to say.

"Oh look," Skeeter taunted sarcastically, rocking back on his heels, "the ghost-thing _can_ stand up. Let's throw it a party."

"I'm not a _ghost_-thing," I muttered darkly. "I'm a _hybrid_-thing, thanks very much." Then, just to back up my words, I let the two ectoluminum blades trickle out of my arms and sent a pulse of energy racing through the pit.

Escarnio grinned. "Excellent."

The random screaming of the crowd in the background was coalescing into a simple chant as we stood there, staring each other down. _"Fight! Fight! Fight!"_ I shook my head to try to clear the cobwebs and then fought down a wave of nausea.

"I've got the ghost-boy," Escarnio rumbled to his partner, staring straight into my eyes. He kept blurring in and out of focus. "You handle the human child."

I blinked and the giant ghost moved, apparently finished talking. He moved with a burst of speed I wasn't expecting; much too fast for a ghost of his size, and much too fast for my aching head to follow. One glowing fist whipped through the air towards my head. I ducked – more stumbled backwards, really – and Escarnio's swing missed my by a hair. Continuing my movement, I collapsed into a scrambling crabwalk and tried to but as much distance between me and death as possible. Escarnio laughed as I backpedalled, coming to a stop against a pair of legs.

Looking up, I caught a glimpse of Skeeter's laughing blue eyes before a strong kick caught me between the shoulder blades and sent me face-first into the muck. "Not impressed," the small ghost muttered, "I'm already done."

"Mine ducked."

"Mine did too; sliced off half his head instead of through his throat like I was planning." The small ghost seemed pleased, however. "Interesting splattering of blood when you do that. Want some help?" he asked mockingly.

I had just gotten to my hands and knees when Skeeter's boot slammed into my back, driving me back onto stomach. He put some weight onto his leg, easily holding me in place as the muddy sand started to choke me.

"Look, I'll hold it still for you." Skeeter chuckled softly.

"Get off me," I spat between mouthfuls of bloody mud. I needed to _focus_ and my pounding head was not helping anything.

Skeeter leaned down – I could feel his weight shift painfully on my spine and his cold breath dance on the back of my neck when he talked. "Make me."

I struggled for a moment, pushing against the slippery muck, but nothing much happened. My body just wasn't up to physically overpowering the small ghost above me. I panted, screaming in my head for my body to do _something_, but I got nothing.

"Just kill it so I can go back to sleep," Skeeter droned.

Craning my neck, I looked up just in time to see a giant foot, most likely connected to Escarnio and glowing with lethal amounts of energy, descend towards my head. My eyes widened… and I screamed.

Something that sounded vaguely like a rubber band snapping resounded through my head – a switch was thrown in my messed-up mind, completing some random circuit for energy to flow along. Power surged up from the ground, swirled through my arms and legs, coiled in my chest for the barest of heartbeats, then flooded out of me in a supernatural shriek that I usually had very little control over. And at this moment in time… no control at all.

Energy poured through me in an uncontrolled mass, sending the muddy ground flying in every direction. The blades on my arms seemed to catch the energy – snagging it out of the air, purifying it and making it more potent – as it boiled out of me. Mud splattered in every direction with the force of my voice.

Finally it drained away, leaving me on my hands and knees, panting heavily. My throat was burning, my head was screaming at me to just _stop _doing_ anything_, and my stomach had chosen that particular moment to rebel against me. Dry heaves kept me from staggering back up to my feet for several silent seconds. When I did get to my feet, the world spun crazily before I could focus in on the two ghosts that were my opponents. Both of them were standing against the edges of the pit, staring at me with similar expressions of surprise and murder, not a single scratch on them.

_Crud_. I just wasted all of my energy and all I did was make them mad. This was not good.

"Interesting," Skeeter said softly, "it's got a self-defense mode."

Escarnio nodded, watching me as my knees give way and I collapsed back to the ground. "An attack that uncontrolled can't be repeatable. That was a one-time thing." He arched one of his giant eyebrows in my direction and snorted. "It can barely stand; it's as good as dead, now."

"You called him." Skeeter crossed his legs and floated in mid-air, apparently putting himself out of the fight. "Go kill him so I can go back to sleep."

With a deep throated chuckle, Escarnio thumped across the muddy ground. Back on my hands and knees, I could feel the entire pit shake with the force of his footsteps and I knew there wasn't a thing I could do about it. All I could do was watch as he got closer, my whole body shaking with the energy I'd lost using that sound attack.

Then I caught sight of the ghost light flickering off in a corner. Shimmering with a brilliant blue – the color that signaled a human soul – the light flared and the world turned inside out.

_Mom was staring down at me, running a small piece of equipment through the air. "I know I saw Danny, Jack."_

"_It's just a ball of ectoplasm, Mads. We've run every test on it we can find." Dad lumbered into view, wrapping his arm around Mom's shoulders._

"_Danny…" Mom blinked tears out of her eyes._

_\- ? -_

_Both of my parents froze, their eyes widening. "What was that?" Dad breathed. I'd never heard him speak so quietly._

"_Danny?" Mom asked._

_\- !? -_

"_Danny, Danny, sweetie, if you can hear me, don't give up!" Mom's finger reached out and seemed to go right through me. "We talked to that Skulker and we've got a plan to get you out of there. Just… hang on. We're coming."_

_\- ! -_

"_Hang on…"_

I blinked the world back into focus as Escarnio pulled back his fist, glowing a brilliant emerald, and got ready to destroy me. He had a smirk on his face, his eyes held no compassion for me. Kill or be killed, live and don't let live – those were the rules of the Pits and Escarnio knew them as well as I did. "No…" I whispered. "Please, don't…"

But I knew he wouldn't listen.

_\- ! -_

The tiny blue flicker of light I'd seen earlier zipped past me, throwing itself into Escarnio's face. The giant ghost roared in pain at the unexpected attack, ignoring me for a moment to paw at the ghost light. "Stupid thing!" he snarled, clawing at his face in an attempt to dislodge it from himself.

In the few moments I'd suddenly been given, I could feel something weird happening around the Pits. It was like a tidal wave of emotion that raced around, centered on me, like a loud chorus of unheard voices. Millions of innocent souls screaming out, begging, pushing for something that they wanted. It wasn't just one ghost light… it was all of them… and they wanted me to win.

I screamed for them, startling myself as much as the ghost I was fighting. Pushing myself to my feet, a trickle of anger curled around in my stomach. All of those tiny ghost lights, all of those lost souls, wanted _me_ to win. They wanted a champion.

Centering on that anger inside of me, I fed it, letting it build, feeling the raw fury of a ghost poor through my veins. I found the deepest dregs of the energy inside of me and pulled them to the front. The blades caught that power and sent it sparkling like a thousand rainbows across the pit floor. Suddenly I wasn't some concussed teenager… I was a powerful and _furious_ ghost.

Two steps, a thrust forwards, a twist of the arm, and a slash sideways. Escarnio, still blinded by the tiny ghost light, shrieked in pain as ectoplasm gushed out of his chest and collapsed to the ground. I followed with a snarl, slamming the point of my blade into Escarnio's head and silencing the ghost's scream forever.

Dancing slowly into the air, the blue ghost light hovered for a moment as that sudden burst of incredible rage died away, leaving me trembling and ready to pass out. I _knew_ that the light was the kid – my partner – helping me from beyond the grave. "Thanks," I rasped to him, getting a subdued and tired

_\- ! -_

in response before the light flickered and drifted away.

I was done, ready to turn around and leave the pit to catch some much needed sleep when I heard the soft sound of slow clapping. _Clap. Clap. Clap_.

"I'm impressed."

Twisting unsteadily on my heel, I looked up at the ghost I'd completely forgotten was there. Skeeter, still floating in the air, relaxed, grinned at me.

He clapped a few more times before unfolding his legs and dropping to the ground. "You killed him. He _was_ the top ranked fighter in the Pits, you know? Now, I suppose, you are." The small ghost laughed, his voice a little wild, his eyes glittering insanely. "And when I destroy you, that'll make _me_ top ghost, won't it?"

I gritted my teeth and glared at the ghost, not trusting myself to speak. My voice would probably give away just how tired I was. Besides, it was taking an immense amount of my concentration to keep myself upright.

"Bye bye, hybrid-thing." With that, Skeeter split into four and scattered around the arena, surrounding me with his crazy grin. Ectoplasm glowed all around me, stinging my eyes and throwing everything into sharp contrast.

Struggling to find a plan, _any_ plan, my eyes fell down to my blades. They were still glittering with power after my attack on Escarnio, tiny fizzles of energy sparkling at me. I reached over with a finger and touched one of the sparks, flinching at the unexpectedly powerful jolt.

I knew from the rat that the blades acted sort of like a filter – they took my energy and purified it, making it more powerful than normal. I also knew from experience that they were a lot like my parents' ectoguns. They collected energy and released it in a sudden blast of power. Unexpectedly and unknowingly, I'd killed a number of ghosts in the Pits with some of the weird things the blades could do.

_Crud_. Slamming my eyes closed, I threw myself into my crazy plan head-first. I grabbed every once and flicker of energy I could find lodged inside of me and channeled it into the blades on my arms. They were working; the power buildup was a sort of freezing hot burn that close to my skin. But I didn't let the energy go. I kept it in there, pouring in more and more and more energy.

It wasn't much compared to what I usually could have pulled up, but it was all I had left and I had to hope that it was enough.

I opened my eyes, squinting a little at the impossibly bright light my blades were giving off, and glared at the four copies of my final opponent. They were close: three more jumps and I was a dead man.

I wasn't trained in how to use these blades for energy attacks. I had no idea what I was doing and no clue if the attack would be powerful enough to actually take Skeeter out, but it was my best option. I focused my thoughts on the idea of letting the energy out in a giant wave, extending around me like a ring of light.

There was only one more attack left in me. I had to get all of them in this _one_. And Skeeter was going to have to be _really _close. If it failed...

Skeeter's copies took another jump. Two more leaps before he'd attack me. By this point, I could easily see his crazy, red eyes and the confident tilt to his smile. He knew that I was running on empty.

My focus wavered for a moment. One more jump.

A cackle burst out of Skeeter's throat as all four of him slammed forwards with ectoplasmically charged hands and feet.

Four feet. _I'm so dead._

Three feet. _This isn't going to work._

Two feet._ What was I thinking?_

One foot.

_NOW!_

Energy burst out of me in a dazzling flash of light and energy. I could hear it rumble and growl as it sliced through the air and slammed away from me in every direction. The only scream I could hear was my own, barely audible over the sound of pure energy ripping through the air.

It lasted for what seemed like millennia, the roiling power moving in slow motion through the air as it blasted past where the Skeeters had been, boiled away all of the muck on the ground of the pit, and continued on to slam into the ghost shield.

When the ghost shield gave way, I _felt_ it.

Finally it was over. Remnants of the energy I'd released flickered and danced in the air like miniature lightning bolts. All of my hair was standing on end from the static charge that was in the air. One of the green flashes of lightning sizzled along the ground next to my feet, illuminating the fact that I was now standing on a bit of a hill – the top foot or so of the floor all around me had been blasted away.

I stared around at the destruction, blinking stars out of my eyes. Walls had collapsed, the ghost shield overhead had flickered off, the now-empty stands were in ruins. Dozens of the ghostly spectators had probably been killed in the blasts; hundreds were likely hurt. Even now, I could hear people moaning and crying up in the bleachers.

Skeeter was nowhere to be seen.

Twisting my head in the direction of the exit, I couldn't help the small smile that was on my face. I'd done that much damage just on the dregs of my power… no wonder they'd outlawed these blades. _Take that Walker_, I grumbled in my head, taking an unsteady step towards the doors that would get me out of the chaos. Walker wouldn't stand a _chance _against me once that rat actually trained me.

The world tipped sideways as a dizzying wave of vertigo swept over me. I collapsed to my hands and knees, unable to get my feet underneath me. In the wake of all that power, I was left with nothing. My arms trembled as they suddenly felt too weak to hold me up.

I had the thought that the ghost shield was down – the place was in such chaos that now would be a _great_ time to escape this damned place. Collars and the chance that I'd be electrocuted could be damned.

But I was too busy passing out to do anything about it.

* * *

_The young woman had her hand pressed against her mouth as she read, her eyes wide in surprise. "Atlantis?" she whispered in surprise. "The rat's from Atlantis? And..."_

_She gasped as a strange through struck her. "He can see through the ghost lights. So can L'Jai! He can see through that mirror of his... but why?" Her fingers traced over the pen marks on the page, her face contemplative as she tried to figure it out. "Why? And what's going to happen when all of these people try to rescue him?"_

_Unable to answer her own questions, she simply turned the page and continued to read..._


	18. Page14

My ceiling has got to be the most boring ceiling in all the Ghost Zone. I suppose it doesn't help that I've been staring at it for so long – I could probably draw it in my sleep – but it's still boring. In all the stories I've read at school about people staring up at ceilings, there are always cracks and water stains and things that make neat pictures like rabbits and ghosts and faces and things.

Mine was just rocks. Believe me. After all this time, it was still _rocks_. There was nothing up there to look at. No pictures to be found by my eyes.

"Explain it again," the rat commanded from his spot on my stomach.

I sighed, closing my eyes. I was lying on my cot, feet dangling over the edge, hands laced behind my head, having woken up in relatively good condition a short time previously. "I figured the blades acted kind of like a filter for ghost power," I muttered. "I thought that if I put my power _into_ the blades, then I'd get a lot bigger explosion than just on my own."

"So you just pushed energy into the blades." LJ didn't sound enthused, for some reason.

"Yeah. It wasn't much, really. I probably wouldn't have gotten much more than a small ectoblast out of it." I'd been two steps from dead, in reality. Not only did I go into the fight with a concussion from Walker, the two ghosts I'd been fighting had been the two most powerful ghosts in the Pits. I was very lucky to have lived through it.

"And you, quite literally, _destroyed_ the pit you were in."

"That's what it looked like." I continued staring into my closed eyelids, images of the destruction passing behind my eyes. It was hard to believe that I'd done _that_ much damage with so little effort. The thought sent a chill down my spine; I really didn't want to think about it.

The rat snorted and I felt him move from his place on my stomach and take a new spot sitting on my chest. "And…?"

I opened my eyes and tilted my head to by chest, staring into his blue, beady eyes. "And… what?"

LJ's eyes narrowed. "And what happened next?"

"I've told you before. I passed out. I'm not sure how I got back here." That was the truth, too. I collapsed in the pit after winning my fight and the next thing I knew I was on my cot with a splitting headache. The only weird part in the whole episode (aside from the normal) was the fact that I had been placed in a semi-comfortable position and I'd been covered up. I couldn't begin to understand why the guards would have taken the time to make me comfortable – they used to just dump me on the ground and walk away.

"And that's it. End of story." The rat studied for a moment, his rodent face blank of any emotion I could find. "Nothing else you want to add."

I shook my head. This was the third time going through this story and there wasn't any more of it. No matter how many times he asked, there was never going to be more. He wouldn't tell me what he was waiting for, so I had no idea what else to add to my story.

After a few moments of silence where he seemed to content to just stare at me, I sighed and switched topics. "So talk." I pushed myself up so I was sitting, forcing LJ to jump down onto my knee. "You promised you'd tell me more stuff about this place."

I'd come to the kind of startling conclusion that I knew practically nothing about the place I'd been living in the past few weeks. Only yesterday did I find out that the collar around my neck would, quite literally, kill me if I tried to escape. I needed to learn more about the Pits before I could get out of here and the rat had promised, somewhat grudgingly, to help.

"Fine," LJ grumbled, sitting up on his hind legs and wrapping his tail around my leg. His ears twitched as he looked at me for a moment. "I'll tell you the story of the blades – then we train a bit, got it hybrid?"

"It's Danny," I said – not for the first time.

He ignored me. "Your blades are made of a substance known as ectoluminum. It was invented several thousand years ago in the city of Atlantis." He hesitated, fixing me with a glare. "You know that the Pits were originally part of a city that existed half in the human world and half in the ghost world? And that it was pulled into the ghost world in a day and night of cataclysm?"

I nodded. I'd figured out that much from what Former and his brother, Mica, had told me.

"The blades were given to spectral warriors whose entire existence was dedicated to the safety and preservation of Atlantis. The blades were incredibly powerful weapons, becoming more and more powerful with the passing of time until they were banned outright for use by ghosts." LJ flicked his ears backwards for a second, a hard look in his eyes. "One mildly powerful ghost, equipped and well trained in the use of ectoluminum blades, could have wiped out the entire Atlantian civilization."

It was almost a reflex to glance down at my arms when he said that. My skin was still that same luminescent not-quite-human tone that it had been since the day I'd gotten 'stuck' halfway between my human and ghost forms. The blades were hidden just beneath that skin, the cold metal seeming to run through my veins whenever I called on it.

"You said that your ectoblast was much more powerful than it should have been. That's one of the ancient properties of ectoluminum. It acts much like a modern battery – collecting ambient energy out of the air and storing the energy in its matrix. When properly focused and utilized, that power can be used to enhance one's natural abilities."

"I tapped into that?"

He nodded slowly. "It sounds like you somehow managed to touch that store of extra energy that had collected without any kind of training. Those blades you are wearing were created thousands of years ago in Atlantis." He hesitated. "And they haven't been used since. You released thousands of years of energy buildup in one explosion."

"So… that was a one-time deal." It was kind of a relief to know that I wouldn't be able to do that again. That much power wasn't something I wanted to deal with. But I also felt a soft echo of disappointment that I knew came straight from my ghost side. The power that had been flowing through me had been intoxicating, and there was no doubting that a small bit of me wanted to feel it again.

"Most likely," he answered. "You probably drained the energy store down to a more 'normal' level. On the positive side, it will be easier to tap into now, and definitely more controllable."

"How?" I asked after a moment, absently sending a command through my head. Freezing metal seemed to swim through the veins in my arms, seeping out through the skin to form into the sparkling too-silver blades. Reflecting back at me in the mirror-like finish, my inhuman blue-green eyes had a deadened look to them. "How do I tap into that?"

It wasn't real interest that got me to ask the question, it was more of a knowledge of fate. The only way out of here was to survive – and my survival meant the death, or sometimes the outright murder, of others. I'd long since accepted that. But that didn't mean I liked it.

LJ's blue eyes shone and a rat-like smile twitched on his lips. "Close your eyes," he said.

I did.

* * *

"Food."

I looked up from what I was doing at the grunted word. The door to my cell opened slightly. A molding hand snuck in between the door and the frame and dropped a glop of red goo into my bowl. "More blood pudding," I muttered to myself as the door slammed shut again. "Excellent."

Beyond that, I ignored the food I'd been given. The glop given to the prisoners was barely edible – it wasn't designed for humans and it wasn't meant to keep you alive for long. Having lived on the stuff for all the time I had, I was probably a half-step from starvation and I was no doubt severely malnourished. Mica had promised he'd stop by and give me some 'real food'. I could only hope that he would keep his promise.

Focusing back on the blades extending from the backs of my arms, I stuck my lip between my teeth and concentrated. There was a specific frequency of spectral energy that would cause the blade to react and I had to learn to find it. Once I had that frequency tapped into, I could make the blades do just about anything. Grow in longer spears, turn into flat plate-like shields, tap into their energy stores, or any of a million other tasks.

I'd done it before on multiple occasions. But each time had been done under extreme stress and emotional highs; doing it consciously was a whole different bucket of french fries. The rat had vanished some time previously and I was left to sit and concentrate, trying to ignore the steadily growing throb in the back of my head.

I ignored the headache and focused. This was one of my keys to getting out of this place. As the rat had said, one mildly powerful ghost could have wiped out an entire civilization with these blades. I'm more than 'mildly powerful' and all I want to do is wipe out one mildly powerful ghost and get out of this Hell-zone. I needed to figure this out.

I more than needed to figure this out… I _wanted_ to figure this out.

Taking a deep breath, I tipped my head to the side and _pushed_ with my mind, edging the supernatural energy flooding around to me to hum a little faster, upping the frequency. I could _almost_ hear it by this point – a soft background scream of power. The blades sparkled in the glow from the flickering ghost lights (of which there were now twelve in blues and greens)… but just for a moment something different happened. They seemed to glitter with an internal power.

_Just a little faster_. I tossed the energy around me just a hair faster, the soft ghostly hum becoming a quiet noise that echoed around the room. The blades seemed to shift and shimmer in the light. Then they caught the light, bent it, and…

For one glorious second, I had it. The blades glowed with a cool light and I could feel them adapting to my own thoughts. They shrank a little, becoming more compact, and a channel formed along one of the mirror-like edges. _More like daggers than swords_, my brain offered and the blades complied instantly, reshaping themselves to fit my desires. Energy flooded around me – I could feel the energy hidden within the blade's depths. Nowhere near as much as there had been, but definitely more than I'm sure the rat expected there to be left.

And then, as always, my luck kicked into full gear. As per usual, it was the 'bad luck' variety.

The collar around my neck zapped into life without any sort of warning and my concentration vanished like fireflies. The fizzling energy from the collar etched angrily through me, seeming to worm its way through my very pores, forcing a scream of pain from my lips. When the agony finally died away, I was left with nothing but the confusion of what had happened. I'd been so focused and calm… and then, without any sort of provocation, my world had been torn apart. There had to be a reason for what had just happened.

When the door slammed open and Walker stormed in, I couldn't find it in me to be too surprised. Instead, anger snaked through my stomach as I pushed myself to my hands and knees. No doubt he had stood outside my door and activated my collar just for the hell of it.

"Don't bother getting up, punk," the desiccated warden rasped, his dried skin rustling in dead leaves as he moved. "I like you better on your hands and knees."

Pure, unbridled ghostly emotion swarmed over my mind at the sound of his voice. Every single memory of Walker hurting me or forcing me to kill flashed through my mind. Rage – pure, simple, slice-your-head-off rage – sparkled into existence and burned through me like a wildfire. Words jumped to my throat, begging to be released, and my hands clenched into fists that trembled with the desire to attack Walker.

But I bit it all back and settled for a glare, allowing a small part of my mind to revel and thrill in the power and intensity of my own fury. I got to my feet, my body still shaking with that almost uncontrollable anger, trying desperately to remain calm. Allowing my already berserk emotions to gain control would only end up with me getting seriously hurt again. "What do you want?" I snapped, looking up into his raisin-like eyes.

Walker rocked back on his heels, studying me carefully, his fingers dancing over a small box attached to his belt – the box that contained the control to my collar. "What do you want, _sir_," he corrected softly, tapping the button gently.

I got the hint. My eyes burned a little brighter, my glare deepening to settle in somewhere around 'if looks could kill, you'd have never been born.' "_What do you want, sir,"_ I seethed.

"My knife," he said slowly. "I want it back."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I lied, fury coloring my words so that they were almost unintelligible.

"So you say." He tipped his head to the side, oddly calm. "However, I have ways of making you change your mind."

I growled softly, feeling my body shift forwards onto my toes and my hands come up. I was losing the battle with my ghostly emotions and slowly edging into attack mode… and a large part of me didn't care. It would feel _really _good to have my hands around Walker's neck. "For example…" I ground out, managing to keep myself standing still.

Walker slipped around me, even having the nerve to turn his back to me as he bent over my cot. The blades that were still extended from my arms ached with the desire to slice into him and send his body flying in several different directions at the same time. I held still, watching, tense, ready to attack, waiting on the balls of my feet.

When he turned around, he held two things in his hands. They were the treasures I'd managed to get a hold of – and kept 'hidden' under my pillow. One was the picture of my family Walker had given me, the other was a scrunchie that Walker said belonged to Sam. "Give those back," I hissed.

"In a moment," he said calmly, completely ignoring my trembling form. He seemed to be completely oblivious of how much I wanted to tear his head from his shoulders… and of how small my amount of control was at the moment. "These people mean a great deal to you," he murmured, his dried fingers touching my family's picture, "just as my knife means a great deal to me. It's my family, you could say. I would do anything to keep it safe and get it back."

"Meaning…" I growled.

"Meaning we're at an impasse. You've got my knife… and in order to maintain the status quo, I'll need to have your family." His raisin-like eyes fixed into mind. "If I don't get my knife back, the next opponents you will see in the Pits will be your family."

The blow of that threat thrummed straight into my heart. It stopped beating for a long few minutes as I stared at him in disbelief. "You wouldn't," I whispered, the rage that had enshrouded me vanishing like a popped balloon.

"I want my knife back," he said blandly, "and I will do whatever it takes to _retrieve it_." The last two words were ground out, his finger reaching out to press the button on the small box.

I had a split second to tense before the collar around my neck once again sparkled to life. Energy coursed around me, singing my hair, and wrenching unconscious screams from my throat. When it was finally over, I was left on the ground, panting, tears leaking from my eyes and my nose running.

"Tomorrow," he whispered in my ear and I flinched, realizing how close he was. I turned slightly to look at him, my nose almost touching his. "Tomorrow you chose. My knife… or your family."

Then he pushed the button again. I screamed in agony as the collar sent more volts slipping through me, making me twitch helplessly on the ground. The pain faded and I rolled onto my side, my stomach clenching painfully, bile rising in my throat. I coughed some of the thin liquid out onto the floor, my mouth stained with the taste of vomit.

"Now, however, you get some sort of prize, don't you." Walker didn't sound entirely pleased with that. "But the rules are the rules – even for a criminal like you. Fourteen fights." He fell silent, his boot tapping softly against the ground as he contemplated. "Desiree."

It wasn't loud, but the wishing ghost appeared in the doorway almost immediately. Her red eyes focused on me and she visibly winced. Her arms curled around her stomach and she looked like she was trying hard to not back away.

"Make a wish, punk."

I didn't want to make a wish; I wanted them to go away and leave me alone. Spitting once more onto the floor in a futile attempt to get the taste out of my mouth, I got to my knees. This time there would be no alternate personality to steal my wish away from me… but I had nothing I wanted to wish for. I just wanted them to leave me alone.

Desiree glanced at Walker, then smiled slightly at me. "A meal, perhaps?" she offered. "You look like you could use something good to eat."

I shook my head dismally. Even though I was starving, the idea of food sent a wave of nausea through me. _Just make a wish and they'll go away. _"A notebook," I rasped, falling back on what I'd told Mica the day before, "and a pencil."

She raised her hands, green mist swirling hypnotically around her body. It flowed delicately away from her to collect on my cot and, after just a moment, dissipated into the dead air. "So you have wished it, so shall it be," she intoned softly. "Good luck, Danny Phantom."

"Thanks," I whispered. Then Desiree was gone, Walker stalking out after her and slamming the door shut.

And I was alone.

I fingered the collar around my neck for a moment, then shook my head sadly, pushing myself dizzily to my feet. Stumbling a few times on my way over to my cot, I landed a little harder than I meant to, staring down at the simple school notebook and the sharp #2 pencil lying on top of it. The red cover was perfectly formed, not yet tainted by the death of the Pits.

Spotting my picture and the scrunchie on the ground – Walker must have dropped them at some point – I scooted off the bed just long enough to grab them. Tucking the scrunchie back under the pillow, I gazed down at the faces of my parents before slipping the picture into the back of the notebook.

Jazz would no doubt be proud of me for what I decided to do next. I was going to spill my story, my emotions, my thoughts, and my fears onto paper in a desperate attempt to make some sort of sense out of what was going on.

Picking up the pencil, I started to write.

And this, my dear reader, is how this story started.

* * *

"Are you going to stop writing for a moment and listen to me?"

I shook my head, continuing to scribble. It was hard to write by the flickering glow of the ghost lights, but I was really getting into it. I normally hated writing, as my various English teachers can attest to. This, however, had struck a weird nerve. I couldn't _stop_. It felt too good to pour my worries out to someone and have them actually listen… even if it was just a red notebook.

"What are you writing anyways?"

"My story," I told the rat, scooping up a handful of the glop that we'd been given earlier. Mica hadn't shown up with his promised food yet, and I'd resorted to eating the almost-inedible food. I made a note in my story about the cooks Mica had told me about, shrugging uncomfortably as LJ jumped onto my shoulder to read what I'd written.

"Lutefisk," he corrected absently. "Not fish-flavored jell-o."

"Stop reading over my shoulder," I muttered, "I hate that." Wrinkling my nose, I jotted that onto the page, closed the book, and looked over at him. "What do you want?"

The rat hesitated, then jumped off my shoulder. "I stopped by earlier. Walker was here, so I couldn't stick around."

"I want out of here," I said darkly.

"I know," LJ said softly. "I watched, for a while. I saw what happened."

I rolled my eyes. The rat, in truth, cared only about his 'plan' and I knew that; whether or not I wanted out of the Pits didn't even register on his radar. But it was so hard to remember that he didn't really care about _me_ when nobody else seemed to care if I was even alive. With a sigh, I pushed my notebook under the pillow and crossed my legs, giving the rat my whole attention. "What?"

"We need to move on to the next phase of the plan," the rat stated, his eyes glittering when he mentioned his plan. "Get Walker's knife, hybrid."

"It's Danny," I said as I got to my feet. It took only a matter of moments to pry open the loose rock near the door and retrieve Walker's stupid knife from where I'd hidden it. Dropping back down onto the cot, I set the knife on the thin blanket between us. "Here."

"How much do you know about it?" LJ asked.

I shrugged. I'd been told plenty, but I wasn't sure what was true. "It's a key, it opens doors and things."

"And," the rat added, "it controls the ambient atmosphere of the Pits. Since it's been in your possession, I'm sure you've noticed that the guards have been acting nicer and the crowds have been thinning. Walker's control over them is slipping day by day."

"Yeah." I rubbed the back of my neck. "I noticed. So what's the next phase of this plan?"

"We need to break Walker's control for good." LJ paced forwards, placing both of his front paws on the knife's crystal-like bottom for a moment. "We need to give control to someone else… permanently."

I was all for keeping Walker from controlling the Pits. "How?"

He took a deep breath. "You have to understand, hybrid, that the key is just this jewel. The fact that it's connected to Walker's knife was Walker's idea. The knife doesn't really matter." He looked up at me, his blue eyes distant. "That, and the jewel is... like a heart, almost."

"What?" My forehead wrinkled in confusion. "I don't get it."

"Ghost lairs are controlled by their owners. The Box Ghost has a lair, Technus has a lair, Skulker has a liar… and each has control over their lairs like Walker controls the Pits. Every ghost has a key to their home; it's just that none of them have _visible_ keys. They carry their keys inside of them, in their soul." LJ's eyes narrowed. "When Walker found the Pits, he stole control from the true owner by, in essence, ripping out the owner's heart. It formed into that jewel."

I picked up the knife, studying the jewel on the end. It wasn't very big but, from what I could tell, would be a beautiful sapphire color when you scraped off the caked-on dirt and dried blood. "Okay…" I could go with that explanation – Walker ripping out someone's heart was all too easy to picture and the thought that ghosts controlled their homes, their lairs, with their hearts and souls made sense.

"We need to give total control of the Pits to someone that can handle it by returning the heart to where it belongs." LJ tipped his head to the side, his eyes glowing brightly. "We need to insert the jewel into someone's body, making them master of the Pits forever."

_No way_ was I going to put that grimy, ugly jewel inside of me. It wasn't just the idea of pouring all of those germs and diseases and infections right into my body… it was also the idea of being master of the Pits. That was something I didn't want in a million years. I wanted to leave and never look back. "What would be the point?" I asked. "We can control the Pits with the key like this."

"Not very well, and very slowly," LJ said. "And, with a true master, we'd have complete access to the portal leading to the human worlds."

I could read between the lines of what the rat was saying: I could go home. The thought made my mind freeze its one-sided complaining about putting the jewel inside of me.

"We know where the portal is that leads to the human world. I know Mica told you it's in the pit where the Box Ghost vanishes on a regular basis."

_I could go home._

"It'd be rather simple," the rat continued softly, "kill Walker, walk through the portal, and be home."

_I could go home_.

"Hybrid?"

"It's Danny," I whispered, my brain starting to reengage, much more willing to look at the potential of sticking this jewel into me. I was starting to like the rat's plan. Kill Walker (which I wanted to do) and then go home (which I wanted to do). The only problem with it was the idea of _me _being the Pits' master. Put the jewel inside of me and be in total control… A question popped into my head, rolling off my tongue before I had even finishing thinking it through all the way. "Why didn't Walker stick it in him if it works so much better that way?"

The rat shrugged. "Partly because I don't think he knew that he could. I worked hard to keep that secret from him."

"Why'd you wait for me? Why didn't you do this years ago?" I looked up from gazing at the knife, curious and hopeful.

"According to ancient lore, a stolen key can only be returned by a 'Creature of Power'." He looked up at me, a grin on his face. "You. As a hybrid with ectoluminum blades, you have more than enough pure potential to be classified as a 'Creature of Power'."

I nodded at his explanation, a blade unfurling from my arm. I pressed and edge against where the jewel met the knife's hilt and applied a tiny bit of gentle pressure. There was a soft _snap_ and the jewel parted ways with the knife. After picking up the two pieces and letting my blades vanish, I slipped across the small cell to hide the knife back in its hole. I didn't want Walker to show up unexpectedly, _again_, and find it.

But something was bothering me, tickling the back of my mind. "So… you had to wait until someone like me showed up? How many of these creatures of power are there?" I glanced over my shoulder at him and arched an eyebrow.

"Aside from you? Pariah Dark, Clockwork, and a handful of other ghosts nobody in their right mind would go near – and none of which would ever end up in here," LJ confirmed. "I had to wait for you."

I sank back down onto the cot and held out the small jewel in the palm of my hand, studying it. That odd feeling in the back of my mind was still there… I just couldn't put what it was into words. "How'd you know I'd end up in here?"

"It was in the plan."

LJ's flippant reply sent a chill up my spine, making that tickle in the back of my mind burst into fireworks. I knew I was close, but I couldn't it figure out. It was just… too many coincidences, maybe. Me ending up in here just like the rat wanted. Ending up in the one cell in the Pits that the rat could access. Ending up as a hybrid, like the rat needed, with ectoluminum blades.

Finally I just gave a mental shrug and pushed the problem away. I'd kill Walker, get home, and _then_ contemplate what it all meant. Focusing back on the task at hand, I held up the jewel, watching the dirty edges glint in the flickering ghost lights, and realized that LJ hadn't ever said exactly who we would be putting the jewel inside of. "Who are we sticking this into?" I waited, half-fearing the answer. I didn't want that jewel inside of me… but fate, destiny, and previous experience were informing that I'd be sticking that thing in me before much longer. That just appeared to be my lot in life.

The rat looked at me, a rodent smile on his face, but a knock on the door sent him scurrying under the cot before he could answer. I snuck the tiny jewel into the pocket of my pants and stood up, waiting for the door to open.

It was a pair of guards. "Time for your fight."

As I took a few steps forwards, I heard a soft growl from under the cot. LJ's plan had been temporarily thrown out of schedule and, apparently, he didn't like it.

* * *

I stepped in to Former's office, struggling to keep from sticking my hand into my pocket to make sure the jewel was still there. It was too powerful, too important, to lose due to a hole in a pocket. "Hey," I said to Former, listening to the door close softly behind me. "Morning."

"Evening," he corrected absently, writing in his book. "It's almost night, in some parts of the human world."

I thought about that for a moment, then nodded. "True."

"Walker's started something new and it's giving me a headache," Former groused, glancing up. His eyes were bloodshot and there were dark rings under his eyes. "It's not enough to be in charge of the deaths of thousands of sentient beings, but now I have to organize it into a _game_."

"A game?" I took a few steps, glancing over the top of the huge book. The page was covered in what looked like one of the tournament grids we used in gym.

"We're doing a tournament. Winner takes all." Former leaned back, set his pen down, and ran a hand through his dark hair. "According to the 'rules' Walker put out yesterday, the winner is free."

I looked up at him, surprise sparkling inside of me. "Free?"

"That's what it says. Collar off, escort to the door, clean slate. Free. And I have to organize the whole damned thing." He glared down at the paper. "It's just sixteen fighters in four rounds. You wouldn't think it'd be so _hard_. Each fight needs a pit and to get the ghosts in the right order…" he trailed off, his eyes glazing.

"Interesting," I said tonelessly. It _was_ kind of interesting that Walker would free someone, but I was planning on being gone long before any sort of tournament would be played out. I had a key. I knew where the portals were. I was _gone_ as soon as I dealt with Walker and the collar around my neck. Destroy Walker, save a few hundred lives, set the innocents free, get to go home… I was growing to like the rat's plan more and more.

Former suddenly snapped his fingers. "Oh! I was going to tell you." He leaned over his book, he voice dropping to a whisper. I had to lean forwards to catch what he was saying. "Something weird has been in the air lately. I'm not sure what it is, but everyone is starting to act a little strangely." He paused, sending me an unreadable look. "And they're talking. Talking about how wrong the Pits are. Talking about how much they hate being here. Talking about _leaving. _We've been getting together and discussing what we could do, maybe overrun the guards or something and get out of here. The plan's not really set yet, but we've got some things in the works."

I grinned. I knew what the 'weird thing' in the air was; it meant the key was working. Walker's entire enterprise was unraveling around him.

"Anyways, we've got this device we're working on we think will short circuit our collars for a few minutes. If we can get it going, are you in on helping with an escape attempt?" He studied me intently.

"I want to go home," I nodded. If the rat's plan fell through, I was always up for a second option. And a third, if Skulker's 'rebels' came through. And maybe even a fourth, if my dreams about my parents were as real as I thought they were. "Count me in."

A smile split his face. "Excellent," he said, glancing towards the doors when they creaked and started to open. "We'll talk later."

Nodding, I pushed away from his desk and headed towards my next pit fight. "Who'm I fighting?" I asked, twisting around to look back at him as the large double doors finished swinging open with a loud _bang_.

"Some human girl," Former replied distractedly, already buried back into his calculations.

The doors slammed shut and I turned to trudge down the hallway into the arena, fighting to keep the smile off my face. I had so many escape plans in motion that there was no doubt I'd be out of here soon. Not even the knowledge of the pending murder of the 'human girl' could get my spirits down. I was home free.

Beside me, the guards seemed a little nervous, glancing up at me every now and then. I figured it was the half-smile on my face that was doing it. Back when I first arrived, these guys had to wrestle me onto the pit floor. Now – they were more of an honor guard than anything else.

The thought made me falter a little. I could see myself, striding into the arena with a small smile on my face, guards arranged around me like a parade, the strongest fighter in the Pits: a confident and arrogant murderer. The crowds would love it, I'm sure. And I'd probably scare the snot out of the human I was supposed to be fighting.

My smile vanished, my fists clenched, and the guards around me took a small step away from me. The Pits were changing me. Too much, too quickly, and in a direction I didn't want to go. I didn't _want_ to be feared; I wanted to be liked.

I needed to get out of this place before I lost who I really was all together.

Caught up in my thoughts, walking without really looking where I was going, I barely noticed when we passed onto the pit floor. The sand was hard and dry under my feet, the crowds a dim roar in the background.

"_Danny?_"

The familiar voice brought me up short, my head jerking up and my eyes focusing on my opponent. The human stared back at me with disbelief written all over her face. My whole body was trembling, my eyes wide, my thoughts totally nonexistent. I couldn't quite process anything as I stared into the eyes of one of my best friends.

Finally her name tumbled out of my mouth, my voice tinged with despair. "_Valerie."_

* * *

"Danny, what's going on?" Valerie demanded, taking a few steps towards me. Her eyes flickered over my body, her face displaying her total disbelief. "What happened to you? Where…"

One of the guards nudged me, muttering, "Get to your spot so we can leave," adding a soft, "please," after a moment. I nodded, my mind still not engaging, and took a few steps forwards. The guards, taking their cue, vanished.

"Valerie… I…" _I have to kill Valerie._ The thought popped out of nowhere, sending a deep thrill of dread echoing through me. "I…" _I have to kill you. _I couldn't complete the sentence.

She stormed forwards, the badly-fitting and dinged blades on her arms sparkling in the dim lights. "Where are we? I was thrown in some stupid dark _dungeon_ and then dragged out here! What's going on?"

"We're in the Pits," I whispered mechanically. "We're supposed to fight to the death." How was I going to kill _Valerie?_ I _liked_ Valerie.

"Death?" Valerie came up short, blinking in surprise.

The world was spinning around me, everything tilting wildly from side to side. "Only one person can leave." I wasn't sure that I actually said it aloud, but the thought that was echoing around in my head rang loudly in my ears. _I have to kill you._

Her head turned, looking around at the small arena and up into the crowds. I followed her gaze, startled at how few ghosts were in the stands. Looking a bit closer, I noticed that a lot of them were wearing green cloaks – Skulker's rebels – and they almost outnumbered the ones were weren't.

"We've been really worried about you," she said, breaking the silence. "Your parents…"

"I know," I interrupted, glancing down at the ground. I didn't want to hear about my parents right now. I needed to _think_. There had to be a way out of this; I _couldn't_ kill Valerie.

"I'm sorry, Danny."

I looked up at her, dragged out of my thoughts by two words I thought I'd never hear Valerie say. "About what?"

She sighed. "About not listening to you. About hunting you. About… everything." Her eyes hardened. "I'll make it up to you."

The smile on my face was morose. Here she was apologizing to me – didn't she realize that didn't matter right now? We had more important things to think about. "You realize that I'm going to have to kill you in a minute, right?" I watched her expression falter as that thought penetrated into her mind. "One of us is going to die."

Her mouth dropped open, her eyes blank.

I continued, mercilessly, hating myself for what I was saying but _needing_ her to understand what we were stuck in. Now wasn't a time to reminisce, now wasn't the time to apologize. "The odds are stacked against you, Valerie. I'm the highest ranking fighter in the Pits. I've killed over a dozen other fighters; I've gone up against the best you can find." My eyes were glowing fiercely. "I've _murdered_ innocent people to stay alive, Valerie."

Her mouth finally closed and she took a small step backwards, understanding flooding through her face.

"One was a little girl," I whispered, taking a step towards her even as she stumbled back a little more. "She knew who I was; she thought I'd protect her and I killed her. One was a ghost who refused to fight me, I had to kill him when he wouldn't raise a hand to save himself." A few more steps and Valerie tripped, falling onto her back, staring up at me. I refused to stop and think about what I looked like right at that moment. I was a murderer and I knew it. "And just this last fight, I watched a little boy die, his head smashed like a pumpkin, and all I did was watch." I took another step, staring down at her from just beyond the stretch of her blades – just in case she decided to attack. "Do you understand, Valerie?"

She nodded, her eyes wide as she gazed up at me. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

"Apologize later," I said simply, crossing my arms, "we've got more important things to figure out right now."

"But," she finally rasped, "won't I be dead later?"

A small grin flickered onto my face. "Not if I can help it." I reached out a hand to help her to her feet. Her eyes jumped from my face to my hand a few times before she snagged it and I hauled her to her feet. "But we need to buy some time to come up with a plan."

She still looked rattled, but she nodded. "I can do that." Then, without warning, she kicked out with her feet and knocked my legs out from under me.

Hitting the ground as I fell, I rolled to the side and was back on my feet in an instant, but Valerie was already coming at me, one of her blades slicing for my head. I raised an arm, my own blades flooding through my veins in a rush of cold metal and boiling into existence an instant before Valerie's crashed into mine. "Careful, those blades are _really _sharp," I muttered.

Valerie blinked, backpedaling at the sudden appearance of my blades. "How did you do that?"

I smiled grimly. "Practice."

She nodded, rocking back on her heels for a moment, her eyes hardening at the knowledge of what I meant by 'practice'. Two quick steps to the side and she lowered herself into a crouch, her blades coming up in a clumsy guard position.

I took the initiative, slipping forwards and taking a slow pass at her head. She blocked it, rolling backwards and out of the way before settling back onto her feet. "That's not going to fool them," she said softly.

We locked gazes for a moment and I watched a shiver sneak down her spine. "Okay."

She was moving a split-second later, her powerful legs carrying her the distance between us in a matter of a heartbeat. A blade snaked at me from up top, another from a different direction, pulling back and darting towards me without warning. One leg cut at my feet, hoping to trip me up. Years and years of martial arts training were coming into use as Valerie 'fought' with me.

It wasn't nearly enough. Even before Walker threw me into the Pits to fight, I'd been better than her. I had supernatural speed, strength, and agility on my side that no human could possibly match up with. Now, with practice fighting to save my very existence, she didn't stand a chance. I blocked each one of her strikes easily, making a few cuts of my own, and scuttled backwards away from her kicks.

I could see amazement bloom on her face as I ducked a few of her wilder swings, then dropped lower to slice her feet out from underneath her. Unable to dodge in time, she tripped and landed heavily, scrambling back to her feet instantly, falling back into a guard. For a moment we stared at each other, then she attacked again. Left, right, jab, side kick.

I dodged or blocked them all, allowing her to push me backwards across the sandy floor of the pit, not even really trying. My mind was busy searching for a way to get us both out of this situation alive. Unfortunately, it kept coming back empty. One died, one lived… that was the nature of the Pits. That was Walker's rule and he was still the master of this place.

Grinding my teeth together with a defeated growl, I let my hands drop to my sides. This was all so _pointless_. I wasn't going to be able to figure out a way to keep us both alive.

Either Valerie or I was doomed.

She hesitated when she saw my hands drop to my sides, but then her face hardened and she attacked again. She jumped at the last moment, propelling herself into the air and sending a kick towards my head. I ducked, slipping to the side, catching her swiping blades on my own.

Landing on her feet and catching her balance, Valerie was back in motion almost instantly. She slammed out with her feet and her arms, trying desperately to land a hit on me. Blocking, ducking, and dodging, I kept her away. Suddenly, one kick made it through my guard and slammed painfully into the side of my leg.

"Sorry," Valerie breathed when I jumped backwards, limping a little.

I shook my head, falling back into a guard as Valerie came at me again. There wasn't any way to save both our lives – the only hope would have been to try to escape… only there was a ghost shield, hundreds of guards, Walker, and the collar around my neck standing in the way. An escape attempt would have killed us both.

Blocking a wild swing of her blades, I backpedaled for a moment, watching her strong body move across the pit floor. Valerie was one of my friends and I still had a bit of a crush on her most days. She was beautiful and powerful, her movements fluid and graceful even as she attacked me.

One of us had to die… there was just the question of which one. Could I bring myself to kill my friend? I snarled softly to myself as she closed the distance between us, using her blades and her feet to drive me backwards again. I'd never been able to bring myself to _attack_ Valerie before, much less _kill_ her.

But I wasn't going to die, not after everything I'd been through. Hundreds, if not thousands, of lives were hanging in the balance. Walker's Pits _had _to be destroyed, that much I believed in. Like it or not, I was probably the best chance anyone had to get that done. I had to free Former and Mica. I had to free all the innocent ghosts and humans that were in the cells. I had to keep anyone else from getting thrown into this death ring.

I had to live.

Valerie, in a strange move I couldn't quite follow, jumped into the air and managed to get in more than one kick towards my head. I ducked below her kicks and when she landed on one foot and slammed out with the other, my head was neatly placed right in the way. Pushing myself in the air a split second before Valerie's foot would have connected with my face, I flipped backwards and landed hard, my breath starting to rasp in my throat as I stared at her.

She grinned at me, knowing how close she'd come to knocking me out, but I didn't return the smile. I stared at her, my gaze hard. Then I shook my head, watching her smile fade as understanding flooded her mind.

This game we were playing was done.

No more practice.

No more pretend.

This fight was for real now.

* * *

Her arm sliced towards me, her blade whistling in the air. I stopped it dead in the air with my own blade, her human muscles not a match for my supernatural strength, watching as a startled look crossed Valerie's face. Striking out with my own blade, I cut at her legs. She managed to get her blade in between to block it, but I slammed into it with a crushing amount of power. Her arm twisted unnaturally as it was pushed out of the way, my blade leaving a line of blood on her arm and her leg.

Valerie gasped, stumbling backwards away from me, a new level of understanding flooding onto her face as she held her arm close to her chest. Her eyes were wide as she stared at me, a tiny bit of fear sparkling in her gaze. Finally she knew… she understood. She only won because I let her.

I took a deep breath, letting my eyes close a little, feeling the emotions that were swirling around Valerie. Fear, pain, panic, and understanding were coalescing around her. Her terror was sticky sweet, sliding through me and coiling inside of my chest, energizing me.

Crouching, I studied her for one last moment. Valerie, my friend, my crush, my first 'real' girlfriend… strong, beautiful, and intelligent. Power flooded around me, curling on my blades and arcing into a visible emerald aura around me. "I'm sorry," I said softly. She was dead; she never stood a chance.

Her arms were up in a guard, her balance on the balls of her feet, her green eyes locked on mine. I could feel her emotions, I could feel the despair etch through her as she realized she didn't stand a chance. The next attack would be the last and we both knew it. But she didn't give up, she didn't back down. She waited, watching, defiant until the end, her glistening eyes catching the lights from my own aura and sparkling like a ghost portal…

A ghost portal…

_A PORTAL!_

One hand flashed down to my pocket, the jewel hard and welcome beneath my fingers. A grin split my face, a bubble of agonized laughter making its way out of my mouth. Valerie backed up a little at my smile, unsure of what I was doing, terror glittering in her eyes.

I was in the right pit and I had the key to open up the portal. Glancing around, I tried desperately to remember where the Box Ghost had vanished. It was over there, right? My breath caught in my throat as my plan pulled itself together in my head. I'd have to move fast. If Walker figured out what I was up to, he'd activate my collar and stop it in an instant.

Without another thought, I threw myself out of my crouch and rocketed towards Valerie, my blades sparkling as they made a half-hearted attempt at an attack. She blocked them, surprise echoing loudly in her aura as she easily beat them out of the way. I spun, sending a slow kick towards her stomach. She stumbled backwards, easily avoiding the kick, and I grinned at her.

She blinked at me, confused. I came at her again, slicing with my blades, forcing her to backpedal in the direction I needed her to go. When she tried to step to the side, I was there, blocking her path. _Back up_… _a little more…_ One more kick had her, as best as I could remember, in the same spot the Box Ghost had 'died'.

"Danny?" Valerie whispered, confusion and fear warring in her in a wonderfully heady mix of emotions.

My fingers clenched tightly around the jewel and I took a deep breath, my mind fighting over what I was about to do. The rat obviously had a plan for this jewel, but I _couldn't_ kill my friend. It was the key to getting her out of here. The only problem was that I didn't know how to use it. The _instant_ Walker figured out I had the jewel, everything was over and done. No more plans. No more escapes. No more fights. Just _done_.

I hated how it was going to work, but there were no other options. I had to throw everything I knew about the key into play and hope it worked the first time. As a jewel the key would probably open the portal, but I had no idea how to use it. For the full effect, it would have to be inside of someone. But if I put it inside of me, Walker would know and I'd be dead in about two seconds.

I had to make it look like how the Box Ghost vanished. I couldn't let Walker know she used the key to escape. I had to keep Walker's attention on _me._

Throwing myself at Valerie, I watched her eyes widen and her blades come up in a clumsy attempt to defend herself from me. Slipping through her guard, my blade slammed into her shoulder, stabbing through skin and bone and muscle. Valerie's arms twitched at the impact as a scream erupted from her throat, one of the blades slicing into my arm.

I ignored it. Yanking the blade out, I twisted a little, pushing the hand that held the jewel forwards. I found Valerie's sliced shoulder and set the jewel against the bloody opening, pressing the key deeply into her flesh and sealing the wound with a blast of ectoplasm. "Think of portals! Think of home, Valerie," I yelled over her screams. "Go _home!"_

She looked at me, her wide, pain-filled eyes meeting mine for just a moment before she exploded. Green light washed over both of us, too bright to look at, and I was ripped away from her and thrown onto the ground. When I looked up, the pit was empty of everyone but me.

_Good luck, Valerie._

The crowd was totally silent, staring, and confused when I got to my feet, my heart pounding in my chest. I turned to walk away, trying not to think about the blood that was streaming down my arm like a river and not daring to look around.

Behind me, Walker screamed.

* * *

"_Does_ h_e know?," the girl whispered as she finished reading the page. "Does Walker knew that the key was…" She fell silent as that realization swept over her. "The key is gone." Tears sparkled in her eyes. "The key is gone, the boy is gone… and the Pits are still here. What happened to you?"_

_She looked around, her heart heavy. "Nobody's going to rescue me, are they?" she asked the ghost lights that were twirling around overhead. "I'm going to die here."_

_Her fingers traced absently over the words that had been written by a boy that was, no doubt, dead. The words on the page blurred._

_After a few moments, tears streaming down her face, she turned the page and continued to read…_


	19. Interlude: Former

I snarled softly to myself as the hybrid was lead out of the cell and off to his pit fight. I had no doubt that the hybrid would survive… but the lack of control I was having over my own plan was frustrating. I had wanted to become the master of the Pits _now_, not _later_.

Taking a deep breath, I gritted my teeth and waited for the door to shut behind the annoying guards. I could wait. Walker had been in possession of the Pits for many years and a few more hours would not do me any harm. I closed my eyes for a moment, centering my thoughts. I was _above_ my more basal ghostly instincts. Besides, I had a few loose ends to tie up anyways.

Digging my claws into the stone floor, I slipped across the cell and out through the small hole in the hybrid's door. The first of my tasks for the day was one I'd been doing for some time now and was, oddly, beginning to grow fond of; it was strangely exhilarating to feel in control of another's thoughts or actions.

My destination was the barracks: the 'home' of some of the worst scum and villainy in the spectral universe. Two floors up and three hallways over from the hybrid's cell, you could smell the guard's barracks from a hundred paces… and it became nearly impossible to breathe when you walked through the door. Ghosts might not have the various bodily functions that humans did, but when a place hasn't been cleaned in over a hundred years, even ghosts can create quite a stench. It was where I needed to be, however, and I hurriedly made my way into the crowded room.

Beds were scattered around the area, hammocks hanging every which way from the ceiling. Used more for tables than for beds, dozens of guards were crowded around a few of the cots, playing a variety of games to pass the time. Only a few ghosts were passed out in the hammocks. It was those few ghosts that I focused in on, sliding through the shadows and climbing up to their beds.

"Evening," I whispered to the first of the sleeping guards. Rather predictable, he didn't answer. The guard looked vaguely familiar – the broken nose and scar over his left eye were distinctive. "I do believe we've met. So you already know the drill."

Twisting my clawed hand intangible, I plunged it into his head. "Such pretty dreams," I cooed when the ghost twitched, having felt the invasion. "I just want to watch." When the guard's movements ceased, I grinned and closed my eyes, letting my mind wander towards the guard's dream.

The dream was a depressing repeat of one I'd seen a hundred times before. The guard was standing in Walker's box above the Pits, watching a fight take place, his chest swelled out importantly. Beside him, the warden was saying something to his 'prized deputy' (which I took to be the dreaming guard), but I didn't bother to pay any attention to what it was being said.

"There is treachery afoot," I breathed into the guard's ear. "They're plotting, aren't they?"

"Plotting?" the guard mumbled.

I smiled. "Oh, yes. They're plotting against Walker – they want to kill him, you know."

"Kill?" he breathed. His dreams shifted suddenly, the guard standing before a faceless enemy, defending Walker with his gun Lone Ranger-style. I waited while the guard got off a few perfectly aimed shots.

"You know who they are too, don't you?" I asked, studying the people the ghost was shooting. "Those treacherous human filth… they're the ones plotting. You heard them whispering. They want to kill Walker and leave."

Suddenly the faceless enemy was no more. In its place was a mangy collection of the Pits' human staff. "I know," the guard murmured. "I told Walker I heard them."

"You did so good too!" I praised, watching him gun down a few of the humans in his dream. "Maybe you should tell him again, just to make sure."

"Just to make sure," he repeated.

"Excellent." Backing out of the dream, I opened my eyes, gazing around the dimly lit barracks.

The guard was still asleep, but now his forehead was wrinkled in worry and confusion. "Plotting," he mumbled in his sleep, causing me to grin. I patted his head a little, pleased with the result, and turned to jump off the hammock.

Back on the ground, I glanced around, wondering if I should plant some more seeds of discontent before I headed out. If all was going to plan – and it was, I'd been watching – than Walker had been receiving all sorts of reports about the 'treacherous humans' and their various plots to escape. Dream-given suggestions led to doubts, and any semi-suspicious behavior on the humans' part could then be twisted into a firm belief that the humans were plotting against Walker.

Finally, I just shook my head and slid towards the door, deciding that I'd done enough with this. My plan would be in action before too much longer and Walker had heard enough to get his guard up. He would jump the right way when the bait was dangled in front of his eyes. "Bye," I said over my shoulder at the guards still playing their card games on the beds, but none of them heard me. They never did.

Making my way through the shadowed hallways, my second destination already in mind, I let my mind wander over plan. Most of the small snags that had been created over the past few weeks had all been ironed out. Everything was going according to plan.

My eyes were glittering brightly, I had no doubt about that, but I couldn't hold back the excitement that was growing inside of me as each step of the plan unfolded in my head. I had successfully gotten the boy into the Pits – even though I'd had to give those ghost hunters more help than they should have needed. I had managed to dream-suggest to the right guards that he be placed in the right cell. I'd broken the boy's spirit and gotten him horribly sick with some chemicals I'd left in his food… and then gotten him to eat a specially designed soup that would merge his human and ghost halves into one. I'd given him the key. I'd gotten him to trust me.

I had my hybrid. I had the key. It would only take a few more hours to convince the young hybrid that I deserved the rule the Pits and that he should destroy Walker. His curious connection to the ectoluminum blades was unforeseen, but didn't make much difference.

Now, all I needed to do was take away the hybrid's last bit of resistance. He had, oddly, managed to make a friend or two here in the Pits. I had doubts that he would be willing to go through with his plan without knowing his friends would be okay.

They wouldn't be, of course. My plans left no room for the safety of the annoying humans and ghosts that roamed the Pits. Once I was the master and Walker had been destroyed, I would be able to sever the ties to both worlds. Whoever was stupid enough to be here when that happened would be stuck here for all the rest of time. That was the point of the idiotic 'resistance' I'd been coaxing in to life – the pure amount of ghosts in the Pits at any given time had dropped dramatically.

I had the hybrid wrapped around my finger. He had no clue that he would be trapped in the Pits once Walker was destroyed, but that was exactly what I wanted. The power I'd been slowly cultivating in the young boy would be siphoned off after I became the true master of this place. I'd be able to use energy to rebuild my home. He might even survive it.

But I _would_ have my home back and the only things standing in the way were two puny humans. After that, the hybrid would be putty in my hands, willing to do anything I asked.

I finally hesitated outside of the room of the human named Gory Former, one of the humans the hybrid had formed an attachment to. Listening at the door for a moment, and hearing nothing, I slipped through one of the small rat-holes in the wall and crept into the shadows of the book-filled room. The human was sitting at his desk, scribbling in that large book, his shoulders hunched and dark rings under his eyes.

Settling down in the darkest bit of shadow I could find – situated between two half-fallen-over books on the Dark Ages, humorously enough – I waited for the human to move. Long moments passed as the human scratched his pen over the paper, rubbed his temples, and mumbled to himself about some sort of 'cursed game'. Eventually, the human pushed himself to his feet and stormed across the room to search through a large bookshelf.

I made my move. Slinking out of my hidden hole, I raced across the rocky floor and climbed over piles of books to make it to the top of the human's desk. I hurriedly pushed a few of the loose papers out of the way and grabbed the pen, complaining loudly about my inability to turn human as quickly as I wanted; I couldn't allow the human to see me. I'd have to make my 'correction' to his fight log in rat form.

Scribbling out the next name on the list of fighters, I used my best impression of Walker's scrawl to add the name and ID number of the fighter of my choosing. Pulling the scattered papers back to about where they had been when I jumped up, I surveyed the desk with a small sense of pride. That was it: with that one, small change, the last hitch was out of my plans.

The door rattled suddenly and I froze for a moment before diving under the human's desk. The guard poked his head in the room, blinking stupidly when he noticed the human all the way across the room. The guard tramped over to the desk, his feet slamming down inches from where I was crouched, and searched through the large books for the names of the next two ghosts that would be fighting. I bit back a grin from my hiding spot; my plan was about to come into action. The guard studied the names for a moment before confusion wrinkled his green forehead. "This right?" he grunted towards the human.

"Yes, it's right," the human snapped back, rubbing his temples as he searched through the library for whatever book he was looking for. "Go get them and leave me alone."

For a few more moments, the guard stood still, unsure. Then he shrugged and vanished back through the door. The hidden grin slipped onto my face as I crouched in the shadows, waiting and watching to see what would happen next.

"Stupid tournament," the human grumbled sourly, finally finding the right book and hauling it back to his desk. Dropping it on top of the list of fighters, never noticing the change I'd made, he started to page through it. "I hate Walker for doing this." His feet scuffed at the ground as he read a few passages here and there, quickly scanning each page.

Quiet fell in the room, broken only by the soft rasp of pages turning and the occasional scratch of a pen on paper. When the door opened, the human didn't even look up. I peeked out from under the desk, taking in the sight of the ghost fighter being escorted into the room. Small but muscular, the ghost had the aura of a spirit that was thriving in the vicious atmosphere of the Pits. This ghost would be perfect for fulfilling my plan and destroying the opponent I'd chosen for him. "Morning," the ghost grunted, crossing his arms over his thick chest.

"Evening," the human muttered darkly.

The ghost narrowed his eyes for a moment. "Who's dying today?" he asked.

"I'm busy." I smiled at the human's distracted tone. The longer he took to find out about my switch the better. I couldn't give him time to correct it.

"Look, buddy," the ghost said angrily, obviously offended by the brush off, "I got a job to do."

"Me too," the human said, setting his pen down, frustration evident in his voice. "I have to get this whole stupid tournament set up by _tonight_. Do you realize the implication of the fact that it's already _evening?_ Do you have any _idea_ what will happen to me if I don't get this finished?"

The ghost took a few steps forwards, emerald energy flaring into existence as the ghost got angrier. "Just tell me who the hell I'm killing and I'll leave you the hell alone."

The human growled, pushing his book out of the way. "Fine. Whatever." I tensed, hoping that he'd been distracted long enough to keep my plan in motion. "You're fighting…" he trailed off. Stunned disbelief radiated out of the human like heat from a fire, followed a split-second later by a pain so intense that it had both me and the other ghost backing away from him. "Mi…"

The door to the pit fight slammed open and I suppressed a grin. It'd been long enough. Risking a glance upwards, I took in the human's white face before slipping as far into the shadows as I could to watch what happened next. The guards that were set to lead the fighter to the pit fight stuck their heads into the room. "Come on," one said in a bored tone.

"I don't know who I'm fighting," the fighter said back. "Idiot human won't tell me."

The guard glanced up at the human, then shrugged and walked over, pushing the human a bit so he could read the book. The human dropped heavily to the ground, his eyes blinking blankly, his mouth open in disbelief. "You're just fightin' a human name Mica," the guard said. "Let's go."

"Hell, I can kill a human in three seconds," the fighter boasted as he walked to the door with the guard. "I timed it, once."

"This'll be quick, then," the guard answered, letting the door swing shut behind them.

"Probably take his head off in one swing." The fighter's voice drifted away as they walked towards the pit.

The human's mouth was moving, but no sound was escaping. I kept hidden in the shadows, waiting for something to happen. Sooner or later the human's brain would engage, forcing him to do something.

"Mica…" The human breathed the name of his younger brother, horror and terror starting to mix in with his emotions. "No…"

Suddenly, he was on his feet and moving. He took a few unconscious steps towards the door before he froze, his breath rasping loudly in his throat. The emotions swirling dangerously around him were wonderful feeling as they drifted through me, caressing my mind. The roiling fear, panic, and agony were delicious.

He raced towards the desk, stumbling a little on the rug. I ducked down, worried for a moment that he'd seen me, that he'd somehow figured out that I was behind his brother ending up in a pit fight to the death, but he just started to yank open drawers. He grabbed something, scrawled a note on top, and then dashed towards the doors leading to the pits. "Mica!" he yelled, wrenching the door open, and vanishing into the darkness of the hallway.

I waited a beat in the silent office before coming out into the light. The ghost would have no trouble killing both humans that dared to enter his fight and I highly doubt Walker would stop the fight just because the human stumbled onto the floor… especially not after all the whispered rumors about how he was coordinating an escape attempt.

I chuckled a little at how smoothly my plan had gone. Both humans would be dead in a matter of minutes – the small snag taken care of. Heading back towards the hybrid's cell, I silently congratulated myself. There was nothing holding the hybrid to this place anymore – he'd happily follow along with my plan. Walker would die, the Pits would be mine, and I would be free to return my home to the way it used to be.

Proud. Honorable. _Mine._

A few doors down the hall I heard a scream and hesitated. Normally I would have just gone by – screams are quite common in Walker's Pits – but there something was different about it… familiar. Besides, based on the odor coming from that direction, Walker himself was most likely behind the screaming. Familiar screaming plus Walker… it was worth checking out.

I slunk through down the dark corridor, sticking to the shadows as much as I could. One of the doors was slightly ajar and my ears twitched. Walker's raspy voice was coming from beyond the thick plank of wood. I sniffed the air, quickly sorting out the burnt smells of the guards from Walker's rotten odor, leaving only a very recognizable scent. "The hybrid," I whispered. What had he done this time?

"Where did she go?" Walker's voice yelled, echoing through the deserted corridor.

I poked my head around the doorway just in time to see the hybrid, one arm coated in luminescent blood, scoot away from Walker's boots. His eyes were wide, but there was little real fear tarnishing his scent. He was looking up at the warden warily, pressing his slashed arm tightly against his chest.

"I don't know," the hybrid answered softly, his voice trembling slightly.

"How did she get there?" Walker snarled. Picking up the hybrid by the front of his shirt, he shook the boy violently for a moment, nearly choking him. "Answer me, punk!"

The hybrid's unhurt arm coiled around Walker's hands. "Get where?" he asked. "Like the Box Ghost?"

I blinked, the fur on my back standing on end. _Like the Box Ghost?_ What did he mean by that? _Where did she go? _Did 'she' – whoever that was – vanish like the Box Ghost did? Through the portal? For some reason, the thoughts were sending horrible feelings swirling through me. I felt my tail unconsciously curl closer to my feel.

"Yes," the warden hissed, "like the Box Ghost. Where. Is. She?"

The boy struggled for a few moments, his voice coming out raspy and strained when he finally spoke. "I don't know, I don't know." He was lying. I could feel it in every molecule of my body. Not only did the hybrid know where 'she' went, he knew how 'she' got there.

My teeth gritted in frustrated anger as the obvious answer slammed into my brain: he'd used the key to open a portal. Walker was two seconds from figuring that out. The _instant_ Walker felt the key's power on the hybrid, Walker would get his key back, kill the boy, and my plan would be ruined.

With a scream of inarticulate rage, Walker threw the hybrid across the room. The boy slammed into the wall and tumbled to the ground, whimpering in pain before he struggled to his knees. I couldn't feel too sorry for him at the moment; he was instants from destroying a plan I'd had in place for _years_. I'd gone through immense amounts of trouble to create this plan. He could suffer a little for almost ruining it.

The warden stood in the middle of the room with his eyes closed, the temperature of the room and the hallway tumbling as his rage built. "Enough." Walker's voice sent shivers through every person present in the room. Many of the guards took a few steps away from the furious spirit. "Enough." Glowing raisin-like eyes turned towards the door, fixing on the ghost floating near the door. "Collect the Fentons. Bring them here."

"_NO!"_ the hybrid screamed. He was on his feet in an instant, throwing himself at Walker. Energy pulsed around the boy as the twin ectoluminum blades exploded into existence. Fury and pure terror was etched on the young hybrid's face.

He wasn't even halfway across the room when Walker pressed the button, activating the boy's collar. Yelling in agony, the hybrid fell to the ground, twitching and rolling at the power that was coursing through him. For a long few moments I watched, hoping that the boy wasn't about to be killed.

When Walker finally let up on the shock collar, the hybrid was left lying on the floor, totally silent. Stalking up to him, Walker picked the hybrid up; the boy's head rolled limply on his shoulders. I tensed. That close to the key, Walker would be able to feel its power. He'd know that the hybrid had it.

I waited, but Walker just tossed the boy to the guards. "Return him to his cell. When you collect the Fentons, place them in the cell next to his. I want them to be able to hear each other scream."

"Sir." The guards saluted and started to drag the hybrid towards the door. I scuttled away into the shadows, my brain sorting through what I'd just seen, but sticking on one fact.

Walker hadn't felt the key.

Why not? There was no possible way that Walker would have overlooked it. Likewise, the hybrid couldn't have hidden its aura somehow. He just didn't have enough talent to do that. Pure, raw power and potential, sure, but he had absolutely no finesse and patience to learn a talent like blocking auras.

Watching the guards half-carry the boy past my hiding spot in the shadows, I snarled in fury, finally figuring it out. There was really only one logical solution to why Walker hadn't felt the key on the hybrid's person.

The hybrid no longer _had_ the key.

* * *

_The young human closed the notebook, her heart pounding in her chest. "The rat is behind all of this?" she whispered, stunned. "I knew… but I didn't think…"_

_Her eyes swept over the empty cell she'd been thrown into, but there was no sign of the rat. "His plan must have eventually fallen apart," she said, thinking. "For some reason, the boy vanished. He never got his key and Walker was never killed."_

"_And now the boy's family is being brought here," she breathed, shaking her head sadly. "I hope they made it out okay. I really hope he didn't have to kill someone from his own family."_

_She opened to the next page, but she hesitated. "I wonder whatever happened to that girl he gave the key to. Would she be the master of the Pits now?"_

_Unable to answer her questions, she turned her attention to the page and continued to read…_


	20. Page 15

It was in the darkest depths of my unconscious dreams that the lights danced; a dozen blue and green dots that swirled and captivated me. I could hear their carefree laughter as they raced, hell-bent, through the air and circled around my body like a dizzy merry-go-round. It brought a small smile to my face as I watched, drifting in the impossible blackness.

We were all trapped in the depths of hell, and somehow these twelve souls had found some semblance of peace.

I wondered, briefly, why I was seeing them, unable to remember what had transpired to get me into such a dark place. Something to do with Walker and Valerie, maybe. Was I dead? Was I just another ghost light now? A tiny firework of concern flared inside of me as I watched them move around me. Quickly, one of the tiny blue lights resolved into a small girl in a dirty blue dress. Giggling, she held out her hand to me and the bit of worry that had managed to form washed away as she smiled at me. In this world, emotions such as anxiety, fear, and anger had no reason to exist.

Reaching out to grab her hand, my smile mimicking her own, I hesitated when I saw the glint of the blades on my arms, remembering when I'd seen her last. How she'd hung onto my leg, believing I'd save her. _And then I killed you_.

_It's okay_, she said in a not-quite-real way, forgiveness radiating from her like a sun. _Come see this._

I took her hand and she grasped it tightly, laughing softly as she started to pull me through the blackness. She dragged me through a path filled with dives and twirls, the other eleven lights following behind us like a train, hundreds of other tiny lights sparkling in like stars in the distance.

When she pulled me to a stop, she pointed out into the darkness and I followed the line of her finger with my eyes. _What is it?_ I wondered, noting the odd _thing_ in the distance. It was a soft glimmering light – not a ghost light, something different – that shone through the black like a beacon.

_We're all connected, _the girl answered solemnly. _What one can see, we all can see, Danny. Your rat friend can watch through our eyes and can see what we show him. And so can you._

I glanced over at her, not really sure if that answered my question. But in the strange world of the ghost lights, I couldn't find it in me to care. _Why are you showing me this?_ Peering into the distance, I squinted my eyes, trying to bring the strange object into focus.

She let go of my hand, drifting peacefully beside me, a contented smile on her face. _We have been waiting for you, Danny. For hundreds of years, we have been waiting. And now you have come._

_Waiting for me?_ The soft light suddenly seemed to explode. I started in surprise, watching the light race towards me like a million rainbows and fill up the darkness. Within seconds, it had obscured half the blank void. I still felt no worry, however; worry and fear didn't exist.

_Yes, _she said. _And for what you have yet to do, this is our gift to you._

I couldn't tear my eyes off the beautiful supernova in front of me and I didn't have time to question the girl's latest cryptic remark before the strange light ate up the rest of the blackness and slammed into me. Brighter than the sun, I was forced to close my eyes. I had no idea when the girl disappeared. The world swirled around me like a dizzy tilt-a-whirl. When I was finally able to open my eyes, I was somewhere I wasn't expecting.

Home.

"He looks really bad," Valerie whispered. Her arm was obviously heavily bandaged, her shirt bulging weirdly at the shoulder, her arm resting in a sling. "He can't weigh very much – I could see his bones poking through his skin. And his sunken eyes… they're just so… When he looked at me…" she shook her head, unable to come up with the words to explain.

My parents were sitting on the other side of the kitchen table, their hands clasped together as they listened to her story, my mom reaching up to brush a tear off of her cheek.

"I was so… afraid… when I saw him. He's got death in his eyes and this aura…" Valerie trailed off, staring out the window. "He's still Danny. But he's… not. There's something about him that's just different."

"But he's alive," Mom breathed, hope in her voice.

Valerie nodded, slowly, her answer barely a breath. "I hope so."

I stood in the doorway behind them, trembling, my back to the door that lead into the backyard. None of them were looking at me. I swallowed heavily, finally taking a shaky step forwards, and I tried to figure out what was going on. Was this just a dream? Was it a hallucination like the other ones?

"Mom?" I whispered, terrified that she wouldn't answer and terrified that she _would _at the same time. I was a murderer and a killer and a monster. I was a fighter. Would I even have a place in my parents' world if I really were back? I wasn't so sure I wanted to know the answer to that question.

Her head whipped around so fast that I was afraid she was going to snap her neck. Face draining of color, she stared at me, mouth moving silently for a moment before a single word escaped. "Danny…"

My gaze travelled to my dad, who didn't appear to be breathing. I swallowed again, my mouth dry, and took another cautious step forwards. I had some idea of what I looked like – skinny and broken and some strange half-ghost thing with murder in my eyes – and I didn't want to scare them.

That, and if this all was just some strange, crazy dream, I didn't want the bubble to pop. I stared into my parents' eyes, drinking their images in like a man dying from dehydration. But when their emotions swirled from shock and disbelief to something else, something more piercing, I couldn't keep eye contact. I didn't want them to know what I'd gone through; I wanted them to be able to have their little boy back… even if he didn't really exist anymore. Biting my lip, I dropped my gaze, noticing that the blades were still on my arms.

I also noticed how transparent I my arm was. My hand came up almost unconsciously and I studied it for a moment, seeing the kitchen tiles through the blue-green glow of my skin and I knew; this was just like last time, I wasn't really home. My body was still locked in Walker's hell. It was just my mind that was allowed to wander.

Just a dream? A hallucination? I clenched my hand and closed my eyes in frustrated defeat. Taking a deep breath, I let my hand fall back to my side. I might not be home for real, but I might as well go with it… there was always the potential that I really _was_ home. Looking up, I tried for a smile when I noticed that none of the three had moved a hair. "I can't stay," I said softly, "I'm not really here.

"No." Mom was on her feet then, across the room in three steps, tears sparkling in her eyes. "You're staying." She hesitated when she was right in front of me, obviously unable to decide if she could grab me and hug me. _Oh_, how I wish she could.

"I'm not really here," I repeated dismally, raising one of my hands to pass it straight through my mother as evidence. "I'm still in the Ghost Zone."

"Astral projection," my father put in softly, getting to his feet and dazedly walking over to where my mother was standing, wrapping an arm securely around his shoulders. She leaned into my father's bulk, a million emotions staining the aura that shimmered around her.

I shrugged, not knowing how it worked – if it was really working at all – my gaze flipping from one to the other, unable to get enough of seeing them. "Walker's coming," I warned them. "He's coming to bring you into the Pits too. You can't let him."

"We'll destroy him when he shows up," my mother said, fury sparkling in her eyes, her face set in determination. She obviously knew who Walker was. "And then we'll come rescue you. We've got a plan, Danny."

"I'll help," Valerie said from her spot at the table, anger coloring the air around her. "That ghost deserves to die."

"I don't think you can kill him," I said slowly, rocking back on my heels. "He's powerful and he's got hundreds of ghosts that work for him. You should…"

My dad interrupted me, his dazed air vanishing as his eyes hardened. I recognized the look – it was the same one that he'd worn when he defeated Vlad and when he 'rescued' me from the monster ghost fish during that fishing trip. "A Fenton doesn't run from a ghost."

"Danny, we'll be fine," Mom agreed, her hand waving once to dismiss the topic. "We've-" She was cut off by a wailing siren. Valerie jumped to her feet, startled, but Mom and Dad just glanced at each other. "The ghost alarm," Mom breathed.

My breath caught in my throat. "Walker," I whispered. "You've got to get out of here!" When neither one moved, I felt the first stirrings of panic deep inside of me. Walker was coming, my parents would be captured, they'd be thrown into one of my pit fights, and I'd be forced to…

Forced to…

I couldn't even complete the thought. "_Please," _I begged, "please just leave."

"We'll rescue you," Dad said stoutly, looking me straight in the eyes. He believed what he was saying down to his very core and all I could do was shake my head, unwilling to accept the answer. "Don't worry."

"But…" Something weird was happening; the world seemed to be fizzling around the edges. I felt a thrum of fear as I realized that this dream, this hallucination, this possibly-could-be-real moment was ending. "Leave," I pleaded one last time, knowing that my parents, despite the technology and my mom's abilities, wouldn't be able to stand up to Walker's armies.

I twisted around, meeting Valerie's gaze. "Valerie, don't let Walker get the key," I gasped out, but I'm not sure she heard me. As I was speaking, the shadows were lengthening, the darkness growing blacker, the lights dimming and swirling and beginning to dance as the vanished back into the darkness of the shadows. The world was gone and I was back in the darkness.

_Was that real? _I wondered to myself as I floated, watching the lights dance around me. Something in my stomach was twisting and churning and a deep sense of despair and loss was causing an empty feeling inside of me that not even the abyss of the ghost lights could chase away.

_It was real._

Glancing over my shoulder, I studied where the small girl in the blue dress. _How did you do that?_

She tipped her head to the side, a small grin on her face. _We are all connected. What one can see we all can see. Where one is, we all are. There is really no difference between us. We are one._

_Am I one of you then?_

She just smiled. _Come and dance with me, Danny_. She held out her hand, the small fingers glowing against the complete blackness of the dark.

I looked back towards where my parents had been. _I want to go back. I need to find out what happened._

_No._ There was a note of finality in her not-really-there voice. _There is no going back. There is only going forwards._

A hand dropped onto my shoulder, startling me. The girl reached up and brushed her hand against my face, wiping a few tears away. I blinked, reaching up my own hand, unaware that I'd been crying. _But…_

_There is no going back._ She smiled, her blue eyes glowing in the darkness. _You'll see them again, Danny. Now, come dance with me, hero._ Her fingers wrapped firmly around my hand, her skin deceptively warm for a creature I knew was dead.

I looked back one last time.

Then I danced.

Waking up was a bit of a shock. I'd managed to half-convince myself that I was dead – which caused a moment of confusion by itself – and the vertigo of going from dancing at break-neck speeds in my dreams to lying flat on my back was sickening. I moaned, rolling onto my side and curling up a little, closing my eyes tightly and fighting back a wave of nausea. Oh yes, and there was the fact that I'd also been electrocuted to unconsciousness. When that memory came sliding back into my head, I groaned. _Stupid_ Walker and his _stupid_ collars.

"_Where. Is. My. Key_."

My eyes flickered open. A ghost – a boy not much older than me – was sitting in the air, legs crossed, his blue eyes glaring at me. Lying across his lap was something that looked like a very sharp spear. The whole cell was thrumming with furious power.

I sat up, swallowing back a moment of queasiness, and scooted backwards until I hit the wall, startled. "What? Who are you?"

His glare deepened. _"Azera, _hybrid_. _Quma este menuos pectusari?" His fingers moved down to clench tightly around the black wood of his spear. "_Referaro miji!_"

"I don't know what you're saying!" My own eyes were narrowing as a wave of ghostly emotion rolled into my mind. Too-impossibly-strong-to-believe anger coiled through my stomach. I let it flow through me, not bothering to try to contain it; if my parents were really being attacked by Walker and I couldn't do a thing about it, I had more than enough reason to be furious – and now some _ghost _was yelling at me in some strange language. I snarled as the intruder leaned forwards, drifting into my space. "And _back off_." Spectral energy was seeping out of me, staining the air with my power.

If the ghost took the message, he didn't seem to care. _"My key_. Where is it?" he snapped. He unfolded, his feet touching the ground as the spear swung around. The sparkling silver metal point sliced through the air and came to a rest inches from my face.

The blades appeared on my arms in a heartbeat, swinging through the air to bat the spear out of the way. While the ghost was off balance, I got my feet underneath me and attacked. My hands slammed into his shoulders before he could get the haft of the spear between us and we tumbled to the ground, him on his back and me holding his down. The spear clattered to the ground beyond his outstretched fingers.

"Not much of a fighter," I hissed sourly, easily pinning him to the ground when he finally started to struggle. "Now, _answer the question_. Who the hell are you?"

"L'Tradeshijai, son of M'Trakamadeshi," he muttered, falling still, his glowing blue eyes glaring into mine. "I am a Guardian and you will answer my question."

I chuckled darkly, still reveling in the rage that was rushing like adrenaline through my veins, clenching my fingers tighter around his shoulders. "As if. Why are you here?"

"Where's my _key_, hybrid?" he asked.

Energy curled around me for a moment before zapping down my arms and burning into his skin, causing him to yelp and squirm. "_You_ attacked me. _You_ are in my room. _You_ are the one currently pinned to the ground," I snapped. "Thus, you answer _my_ question. Why are you here?"

In response, the boy seemed to melt and shrink, the strange blue-black hair on his head spreading to cover his whole body. In just a few moments, the boy was gone, replaced by a familiar-looking blue-back rat. The total impossibility of that caused the ghostly fury that was running through me to vanish, leaving me to scramble to my feet in surprise.

"I'm always here," the rat muttered. "And as it's _my_ key you _lost_, I feel like I am free to ask the question."

"You're… not… really a rat?" I asked, startled.

He snarled. "Of course not, idiot. I'm not really a rat, the jewel's not really a jewel, and the Pits aren't really Walker's. Stop finally drawing idiotic conclusions and _answer my question_. _Where. Is. ?"_

"I… gave it to Valerie," I stuttered, still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that the rat wasn't _really _a rat.

"Who's Valerie?" he snarled angrily.

"My friend," I said and dropped down onto my cot, "the girl I was fighting. I gave her the key to get through the portal…"

"And now you don't have it anymore."

I shook my head. "Valerie's alive though…"

"I don't _care!"_ Energy flickered around the rat as he glared up at me. "The key was _everything_, can't you see that?" He stamped his foot furiously against the ground, his tail lashing back and forth. "Do you _really _have _no_ ability to think things through? Do you _really_ just act on the moment with no thought to the long term effects of your actions?" He snarled. "I don't _care_ about one human girl. Because of _your actions_, the whole plan isn't going to _work_."

I blinked, started at his vehemence. "But we can…"

"_No._ We can't. Without the key, we can't destroy Walker's hold over the Pits. Killing him will accomplish nothing now – someone else will just fill his place and we'll get _nowhere_. _Thousands _of innocent ghosts and humans have just been doomed to a terrifying death in the Pits, because of your actions."

"I couldn't kill my friend."

His eyes were glowing a rage-induced icy blue. "Yes, you could have. And now, you, and everyone you hold dear will die because of it. Walker will go after your precious friend. You've done nothing but buy her a few days of life and destroy a plan I've had in motion for _a century_."

"I couldn't…"

The rat bounded forwards even as I was talking, vanishing under my cot, leaving the spear behind. "You made your bed, now lie in it," he muttered darkly. I dropped to my knees to answer, but all I caught was a glimpse of a blue tail vanishing in the dark corner of my cell. The rat was gone.

"I couldn't kill Valerie," I said to the empty cell, but tiny bits of doubt were crawling in and around my mind. Had I done the right thing by saving her life? Was LJ right – had I doomed hundreds of people by allowing her to live? Should I have…

I shook my head sharply, cutting off my mental rambling, frustrated and annoyed at the line of thought. Was I really contemplating whether or not _killing_ one of my friends would have been the right thing to do? "I did the right thing," I said, hoping to sound confident, but my voice came out trembling and weak.

The truth was that I no longer had the key and the rat – my one real chance at escape – was mad at me. Walker was bent on capturing my parents in a bid to convince me to tell him where the key was. In all likelihood, when Walker pressed a knife to my parents' throats and ordered me to tell him where his knife was, I probably would. Then it would just be a matter of hours before Valerie would be dead and Walker would have his key back.

Which would leave me with no key, no rat, my parents in the next cell over, Walker back in control again, and every chance in the world of meeting my best friends in the next Pit fight.

"I did the right thing," I insisted one last time, but it sounded hollow even to my own ears.

I rolled over groggily when my door slammed open, shaking me out of a restless sleep. I was hovering a few inches above the hard wooden planks of the cot in an attempt to get some sleep, but my mind had been refusing to shut up. I'd just managed to fall into something resembling sleep… and now I was awake again.

"Morning, Punk."

Scrambling to a sitting position before he could shock me, I noted the almost happy smile on the warden's face. Various ideas of why Walker would be so pleased scuttled through my mind – every one of them twisting my stomach into painful knots. I took a deep breath to ask him why he was here, but he took a few steps forwards, his boots echoing on the hard stone floor, and I instinctively scooting farther away from him. "What do you want?" I asked when my back hit the wall.

"You've got new neighbors," he said, his grin growing. I shivered at how his smile didn't reach his raisin-like eyes, the desiccated skin of his face cracking and shifting at the uncommon expression. One of his fingers traced down to touch the small box on his belt, the control that would activate the collar around my neck, and I couldn't fight down a flinch. He saw it and his smile grew again. "They'll be able to hear you scream," he added pleasantly.

I flicked a glance at the wall, hoping against all hope that my 'neighbors' weren't who I thought they were. If my dream was real, than my parents had been captured by Walker.

"Bullet was, unfortunately, unable to find your sister," Walker said slowly, his voice sending a thrum of despair through me. "But they did drag back two humans, unconscious, one in blue and one in orange."

The floor felt like it had been yanked out from underneath me and I'd gone into freefall. My stomach clenched and my heart skipped a beat. "My… my…" I whispered as the world started to spin.

"…parents," Walker finished. "They're next door, waiting for you, Punk."

_No._ Disbelief was the strongest of the emotions that swamped me when Walker acknowledged my fears. There was no way that Walker could have captured them. Not after I warned them. Not with all the inventions. Not… "I don't believe you."

Walker didn't even blink. "You don't?"

My trembling fingers slipped underneath my pillow and pulled out the burned, purple scrunchie, trying to prove my desperate denial of his claim. "This isn't my friend's," I said softly. "You told me I killed them, but this isn't hers. Her scrunchie is green." _Oh please no, don't let him have my parents…_

"So you think," Walker said without any sort of surprise. "Girls aren't allowed to have more than one color scrunchie?"

I licked my lips, shaking my head. Whether it was denying Walker's words or answering his question I wasn't sure. "I don't believe you_." I can't believe you; you can't have my parents and I didn't kill my best friends. No, no possible way._

He seemed to consider that for a moment, then he turned to the partly-open door. "Guard," he ordered before turning back to me. Arms came to rest behind his back, eyes focused on me. He looked like he was enjoying what he was seeing – no doubt a trembling, scared-looking teenager.

A voice came from out in the hallway and I froze completely still. "_Let me go!_"

_No, no, no, no, no, no_… There was only one word echoing around in my head as my door suddenly swung open and four guards came into view, dragging a struggling form between them. Her blue jumpsuit was torn and bloody, her hair disheveled, her normal utility belt missing in action. Fear and rage were billowing off of her – her emotional energy so distinctive that I knew in a heartbeat that this wasn't some illusion. This was really my mother. I couldn't breathe as I watched her try to wrench her arms out the guard's grin, pure terror jumping into my throat. _He's got my parents._

Walker chuckled.

_He's got my parents._ My gaze was watering as I stared at her, my heart beating loudly in my ears. _What am I going to do? He's got my parents… no… no, no, no…_

Suddenly, Mom's eyes jumped up to meet mine and she stopped struggling for a long moment. "Danny!" she gasped, her gaze locked on mine.

"Mom?" I pushed myself away from the wall, unconsciously getting to my feet and taking a few steps towards her.

Then I collapsed to the ground as the collar around my neck sizzled into life and seared through every molecule of my body. "_Ahh!"_ I screamed, twitching and curling into a ball in an attempt to escape the agony. Somewhere beyond the pain, I could hear my mother yelling my name, but I couldn't do anything but wait for the eternity of agony to end.

When it finally did, I could feel Walker's chill presence leaning over mine. "I _do_ have your parents. You _did_ kill your friends. And you have a decision to make."

I struggled to get some air into my lungs, my muscles shaking and twitching uncontrollably from the energy that had been racing through them. My breath was coming in low gasps, pain shrieking through every cell, my mind effectively turned off to any sort of thinking. But I could hear Walker's threat just fine.

"My knife or your parents."

The door slammed shut a few moments later and I forced myself to my hands and knees, alone again. Walker was gone, but so was my mother. I coughed painfully, settling back onto my heels, and stared at the door in despair. The pain was vanishing, ebbing into my bones and throbbing in my joints and behind my eyes, but I knew that even that would disappear soon. Walker hadn't hit me very hard this time.

_He's got my parents – what am I going to do? I can't rescue them…_

"Wish you had the key now, don't you?" the rat whispered from under the cot, his taunting voice full of 'I told you so'.

My fingers clenched, the aching knuckles cracking and popping, and I twirled around. Rage exploded in my heart and cascaded through me like a forest fire. It was oh-so-much-more intense than any human would ever feel – it completely erased any other emotions I had been feeling. Despair, pain, terror, and sadness were eaten up by the pure flame of my ghostly fury. And, this time, I didn't bother to try to stem the tide; I let it burn like a wildfire.

"_Shut up!"_ I screamed, my eyes blazing with the amount of power I'd collected around me. Energy swirled into existence in a flare of emerald light, the blades appeared on my arms without being called, and I was on my feet in an instant. "Shut up, shut up, _shut up!_" Power spilled over into my voice, making my voice drip with power and filling the room with painful echoes. I had no other thought in my head but to kill the rat.

Damn the plan. Damn the stupid rat. _Walker was going to throw me in a fight against my parents _and the rat was _taunting me?_ Somewhere inside of me, I'm sure my human side was telling me I was overreacting, but my ghost side didn't care. _I_ didn't care – I needed an outlet for my emotions and killing something sounded like a perfectly reasonable form. I was already a murderer, what was one more rat on my way to Hell?

The rat's sapphire eyes widened, his whiskers twitching, seeming to catch onto my thought process – not that it was hard to figure out, I'm sure the desire to kill him was etched on every feature of my face. He twirled to run but I was already moving. Spectral-born speed had me across the room in a heartbeat, the cot being tossed against a wall, the rat's hiding spot no longer hidden. There, beside where I'd hidden the spear the rat had dropped earlier, LJ was crouched. I reached down to grab him but he slipped out from between my fingers.

A sparkle of green light and the rat was gone, vanished through a tiny ghost portal in the corner of my cell I couldn't follow, chasing his own shadow back to the relative safety of his lost city. I glared down at the place where the walls met the floor, fuming, my fury feeding on itself in a painful arc.

I threw back my head and screamed as loudly as I could, flooding my voice with as much power as I could find. Energy raced out of me in a dizzying rush, the vibrating air molecules almost glowing in emerald waves as they bounced around my small cell, singeing the stones before they dissipated.

Walker had my parents.

Walker was two steps from having his key back.

Walker was winning.

And it was all my fault.

I collapsed to my knees, my voice fading away, tears streaking down my face. _Walker has my parents_. My rage was vanishing, being replaced with nothing short of complete despair. _What am I going to do? I can't even save myself._

_I'm going have to watch them die._ I buried my face in my hands, my breath catching painfully in my throat, my chest heaving as I tried to hold in sobs of anguish.

Shifting a little, I got my legs out from under me and pulled my knees up to my chest, my back pressed against the cold wall. I was having a tough time breathing, unable to take in a full breath of air, my lungs working faster and faster to try to pull enough oxygen out of the air. The world grew black around the edges and the ground started to spin as my breath rasped in and out, faster and faster. _My parents are in the Pits._

Three of the ghost lights drifted down to where I was sitting, holding eerily still a few feet in front of me. I gazed at them through watery eyes, the blackness creeping in from the edges to drown out more and more of what I could see. _I'm going to have to kill my parents._

The smallest of the blue lights drifted closer until it was nearly touching my forehead, seeming to listen to my shallow gasps for air. _I'm having a panic attack,_ I realized faintly. Then a sparkle of light jumped between the ghost light and my head and the world went black.

I pushed the cot back into its place, the rat's spear once again hidden from view if someone walked through the door, and settled down onto the thin blanket. Sam's burned scrunchie was sitting on top of my pillow next to the red notebook, which had its own collection of burn marks and wrinkled corners now. My family's picture was still carefully tucked into the last page of the notebook, but I hardly dared to look at it. My mother's face was engraved into my mind anyways – looking at the picture could have sent me spiraling again. As it was, I was having a tough time keeping my mind out of the depths of despair.

"What am I going to do?" I whispered as I picked up the notebook and paged through it without thinking. I'd already written on a number of the pages, writing down my story. It wasn't really helping me figure out what was going on, but I was keeping with it… if for no other reason than because I had nothing better to do. "I need to save my parents and myself _and_ keep the key away from Walker."

I needed a plan. Not some elusive 'plan' that everybody and their brother seemed to have, but one of my _own_. And I needed one _now –_ Walker could throw my parents into my next pit fight. The problem was that I knew so _little_ about how the Pits worked. I glanced up at the door with a sigh.

_Wish you have the key now, don't you?_

I nodded, remembering the rat's words. _Yes, yes I do._ _More than anything, yes I do._

I should have killed Valerie. The knowledge was heavy on my heart. I should have killed one of my friends – if I had, I wouldn't be in this spot. I'd still have the rat's plan and would have been three steps from being free of this place forever. Now… Now…

Now my parents are going to die, I'm going to die, and my friends are going to die. The Pits will continue and hundreds, if not thousands, of innocent souls are going to suffer. All because I couldn't kill one person.

Shaking my head, I dragged myself out of those thoughts. I needed to think about what was going to happen next, not cry over spilt milk. What's done is done. "What am I going to do?"

I reached a blank page in my notebook and stared down at the small lines as if the answer would write itself on the paper. It didn't.

"Phantom," came a burly, echoing voice. I glanced up from my almost feverish writing, having found a tiny bit of relief in spilling my story onto the thin pieces of paper. The guard was one of the tall ones, a black patch over his right eye. He studied me for a moment. "Fight."

Nodding faintly, I pushed the notebook under my pillow and got to my feet. The guard stepped to the side to allow me to leave the room. I took a single step into the hallway before I froze.

Ghosts were standing along the darkened corridor surrounding the one ghost that was lounging carelessly against the wall. Walker tipped his head to the side. "Your choice?" he asked simply. _My knife or your parents? _As if to prove his point, he raised his hand. Dangling from his finger was an old fashioned key that I had no doubt opened the door to my parents' cell.

I stared at the old key, almost mesmerized by it as it swayed back and forth. I had no idea what to do – I had never felt so incapable of doing anything. Always before when I'd been angry, frustrated, or outmaneuvered, I'd been able to use raw power to force my way out of losing. With just a few exceptions, it had been a working strategy. The collar around my neck completely negated that possibility. I wouldn't get more than a few feet before someone pushed a button and sent me collapsing to the ground.

My gaze switched back to Walker. I'd never been much of a planner; thinking two steps ahead wasn't my strong point. Right now, it wasn't _any_ point. My options were so limited that they were almost nonexistent.

One – I could lie to him. Walker would, no doubt, uncover the lie in a matter of minutes, my parents would end up dead, and Walker would find someone else to dangle in front of me. Two – I could tell him the truth. Valerie would be dead in just a few hours, Walker would have his key back, and my parents would probably end up dead anyways. Or three – I could chose to not answer. My parents would die and someone else would find their way into the Pits.

I don't think I'd ever felt as _young_ as I did as I stared at him just then. Walker had experience; he'd maneuvered me perfectly into a corner that I couldn't escape from. There wasn't a good solution and I had no _clue_ what to do next.

My eyes dropped to my feet. "I don't know," I whispered, somewhat truthfully. _I don't know what to say._

"What was that?" Walker's voice was hard. "One must speak up when spoken to."

"I don't know!" I said, louder, frustration seeping into my voice. There was only one thing I knew for sure – I had to stop being a pawn. I needed to do something, make a move. I had to take the initiative._ My parents are dead anyways._

Stomping down on the emotions that came with that thought, I tried to get my mind to work. I needed to tell Walker something to buy some time for me to come up with an actual plan, talk to Former, and find a way out of here. I couldn't tell him the truth, so I had to lie. I had to tell him a lie that he wouldn't be able to check quickly. _Stick as close to the truth as you can_.

"You do know," Walker snapped.

I took a steadying breath, closing my eyes for a moment. "I don't know where it is," I said softly, letting the all-too-real-fear color my voice. If Walker figured out I was lying to him, my parents would be dead in minutes. "But I know who has it."

Walker's dried-up eyes narrowed, his glittering gaze focused on me from inside the dark sockets of his skull. I shivered a little, fighting to keep from taking a step away from the warden. "Who?"

Licking my lips a little, I stomped down on a few tendrils of fear that were snaking up my stomach. "What do I get if I tell you?"

The warden seemed to think about that for a moment, his raisin eyes studying me, his fingers brushing over the box on his belt that would activate my shock collar. I tensed, waiting for the agonizing electricity, but it never came. "Why should I believe what you tell me?" Walker asked slowly.

"I'm sick of being a pawn," I answered, keeping my eyes trained on the ground and fighting the desire to edge away from Walker.

He gazed at me for a moment longer. "All you've got is lies." Turning away, he waved his hand over his head. "Throw him in a Pit with his parents."

_No!_ "Blue eyes," I called out desperately, hoping that Walker knew about the rat. "Black hair with blue streaks. Calls himself a 'guardian'."

The warden's back stiffened in surprise. "L'Jai," he hissed, his fingers clenching so tightly I could hear his ectoplasmic bones snapping and groaning. When he turned to face me, his eyes burned with hatred. "The rebel has my knife?"

"Had," I answer softly, one of my feet moving backwards to keep myself away from Walker's growing spectral presence. Swallowing heavily, I glanced up into his eyes.

The warden was swelling, his head seeming to brush the ceiling, his shoulders touching the walls. "_Where is my knife?_" Walker screamed, stalking up to me and glaring down at me.

Locking my knees, I kept my gaze locked on his, struggling to keep Walker from knowing just how afraid of him I was. Huge, menacing, and _very _dangerous, it was all I could do to not collapse to the ground and cower. "What do I get in exchange?" I responded, my voice trembling slightly.

"Your life," Walker snarled. He pulled the box off his belt and waved it in my face, his huge fingers nearly as big around as my head.

"Not good enough," I answered. "My life's not worth that much."

Walker slowly shrunk back to his normal size, seemingly taken aback by my response. He stared at me for a long moment, but I just met his gaze. I was sure that my fear was leaking through, but I had no doubt that he could see the truth in my answer. I'm a murderer; I'm not sure what home I have to go back to even if I do survive this. Life as I knew it, for all intents and purposes, was over.

What was left of my life isn't worth the knowledge Walker was asking for.

"Your parents' lives, then," he said slowly. "You tell me and I'll free them."

My gaze drifted away from Walker and landed on the nearby door. The sign painted in blood red clearly showed that two humans were being kept inside, my heart skipping a beat. _I have to tell him something. _"LJ brought me the knife," I said quietly.

Walker rocked back on his heels, then a strange grin slipped onto his face. His skin rustled as the expression twisted his skin. "Leave us," he hissed to the guards. "Wait for us around the corner." After the three guards had vanished, Walker chuckled. "I thought you knew about the rebel – he's been plotting around behind my back, poisoning the minds of my workers. He's been behind the little ghost rebellion as well, I've learned." His eyes narrowed dangerously, his fingers dancing over the box at his belt. "Before, he was just a nuisance. Now that he's stolen my knife… I assume you know what my knife really is."

"The jewel is the key to the Pits," I answer, nodding my head.

"Exactly," Walker said with a small, almost pleasant smile on his face. The effect of his furious eyes and the smile made me want to race in the opposite direction as fast as I could. "And you then realized why I want it back. Where is it?"

I shivered, dropping my gaze back to the floor. _I can't tell him the truth; he'll go check the moment I tell him where it is and find out that the jewel is missing. _"Let my parents go, then I'll tell you," I said, my mouth dry.

"No." His rebuke was hard and quick, his eyes narrowed and his tone booking no argument. "I want my knife back _now_, I want that rebel on a stick, and I _will_ have those before anything else happens."

"But-"

"You are a _child_, Punk," he hissed, "and I have been doing this longer than you can _imagine_. Don't bargain with me – you will lose. Tell me where my knife is. _Now._" Fury sparkled in his words, energy flaring around him in lethal swirls of power. "My knife for your parents. Either I get mine, or you lose yours. Choose."

Taking a small step backwards, my breath caught in my throat. I couldn't tell him where the knife was. But what could I say? "I…" Walker snarled, cutting off what I was about to say, and I glanced down at the small box on his belt, licking my lips.

Something was churning down in my stomach. _I wish… _Closing my eyes, I didn't know what I was really wishing for. Everything was falling apart and I didn't know what to do. And to make it all worse, I had this strange feeling brewing inside of me… almost like I _wanted_ to tell him. He was stronger and faster and… he was the ruler.

I understood the feeling almost as soon as I realized it was there, my mind connecting the dots without a problem. My ghost emotions and instincts were coming into play. Walker was talking directly to something inside of me – something my human side had always been able to override. Now, locked in the Pits and terrified and unsure of myself, he was playing the 'boss' card and my ghost side was falling for it. Gritting my teeth and fighting against the growing feeling, I looked down at my feet. I _wasn't_ going to tell him anything.

"_Now_."

"It's in my room still." The words jumped out of my mouth unbidden. For a moment, I just stood there, blinking and startled. Then, an empty feeling gnawing at my stomach, I whispered, "I can get it for you after the fight."

Strong, wrinkled fingers grabbed my chin and jerked upwards, forcing my eyes to meet Walker's eyes. He stared at me for a moment. "You're telling the truth, aren't you, Punk?" A grin split his face, his dry skin cracking at the movement. "I'm breaking you. Slowly but surely, I'm winning." His nose moved closer until it was inches from mine, his rancid breath blowing in my face. "Soon, you'll do whatever I ask, won't you?"

I shook my head, but Walker's strong fingers dug into my jaw and moved my head up and down for me. _What did I just do? I gave in. Why did I tell him? WHY!?_

"After the fight, then," he murmured, "we have a date. Die in the fight and your parents will follow you into the afterlife. _Lie to me_," he snarled, "and your parents will not see their next meal. Are we clear?" Fingernails dug into my skin as he tightened his grip.

"Crystal," I whispered painfully.

He let go, a small smile on his face as he placed a hand gently on my shoulder. "Good boy. Now, let's get you to your fight." He pushed my shoulder a little and I walked alongside without a struggle, still going over what had happened in my head. I'd given in – was it as simple as that? Walker knew I had the knife. He knew where it was. Walker knew I knew about the rat. Walker had my parents. He had me. The rat had deserted me. I didn't have the key anymore.

After all this, after everything I'd been through, was Walker going to win after all?

Dear reader, you have no idea how much pain that thought brought me. I'd been through so much, done so much to survive, given so many things to try to _win_… was I just going to lose anyways? Was I just going to give in and let Walker win?

"Tracing back the rebel's plotting has taken quite a while," Walker said almost conversationally as we walked down the hallway, the guards catching up with us as we rounded the corner. "The elephant was helpful – you remember her, correct? She was the one that brought you to me. She had a most interesting story to tell about L'Jai and how he helped her get you in here with some poisoned darts."

_The rat…?_ I felt the ground drop out from under me, my feet moving mechanically down the corridor. _The rat got me in here?_ Walker had to be lying about that. Why would LJ get me locked in here?

But, at the same time, it made a sickening sort of sense…

Walker was still talking, not apparently noticing how startled I was at that piece of information. "I'm surprised you kept his secrets as long as you have; I wasn't sure you even knew about the rebel. But after I knew that he had helped you get captured, I was sure that he was planning to use you on his latest 'overthrow Walker' plot." Walker snorted. "Idiot boy. When I get my hands on him, I will destroy him – he's been nothing but an annoyance. I haven't figured out how he gets around my Pits without being noticed, but I will."

_Just an annoyance._ I looked at Walker out of the corner of my eye. _Is that all he sees me as too? An annoyance?_

Walker, who had stolen the Pits from its original owner. Walker, who was busy unraveling LJ's supposedly 'secret' plot. Walker, who had, apparently, out-maneuvered me just minutes before. _Excellent. _I rubbed a hand over my face, trying to ignore Walker's victory speech, desperate for some kind of plan.

"I'm not sure what you thought you were doing, Punk," Walker continued, more to himself than to anyone else. "Mere _children _going up against me? What kind of world would this be if I didn't win? I'm bigger, I'm smarter, and I _am_ the rules. I can't help but win."

The door to Former's office appeared before us and Walker dragged me to a stop. "One fight," he said. "Win and you live. Lose and everyone you hold dear will die."

I looked up at him for a moment, then nodded slowly in understanding. What else was I going to do?

"Good luck," Walker chuckled.

I slipped through the door, my mouth dry and my stomach churning painfully. I took a deep, unsteady breath as I looked around Former's office, searching for the familiar face. Former had some sort of escape plan…

Only there was no Former. A strange man with red hair was sitting at the desk, pen in his hand. He looked up when the door clicked shut, his eyes narrowing as he studied me.

"Who are you?" I asked, my voice cracking.

"Joe," he said simply, not getting out of his seat. He looked back down at his book and started to write again.

I waited a beat, but when he didn't continue I asked the question that was floating around in my head. "Where's Former?"

"Dead."

For about the umpteenth time, I felt like a rug had been dragged out from under my feet. "What?" I breathed. My mouth was open, my mind not entirely sure what it was trying to think or feel. Too many things had happened in the past few minutes for my brain to keep up. Anything more, and my head would turn into mush.

Joe shrugged, looking down at his book and scribbled for a second, not answering my question.

"How did he die?" I asked.

"Pits."

A few moments of silence passed as I realized that he wasn't going to continue. "Thanks for being so descriptive," I muttered.

He glanced up at me, arching an eyebrow. Then he picked up a thick envelope and held it out to me, bouncing it a few times in his hand when I didn't make a move to take it. "Yours," he said simply.

"Mine?" I reached out and took it from his fingers, looking down at it. Neat handwriting was scrawled across the front of the old-style envelope. _To Phantom_, it read, _please give it to him when you see him next._ The envelope was thick, something hard inside. My world still feeling a little unsteady, my whole universe having been upturned in the past few hours, and I just stood there, staring blankly down at the envelope.

Joe grunted and I glanced up at him. "Open?"

Slowly, I ripped open the envelope and dumped the contents into my hand. The only thing in the envelope was something that looked like a dirty circuit board, hand-welded by someone who didn't know what they were doing, three buttons fixed to one side. I looked at it for a long moment before moving my thumb over to gently press one of the buttons.

Nothing happened.

The door leading into the Pits suddenly creaked and I jumped, stuffing the small object into my pocket. One of the guards stuck his head around the door and gestured at me. "Fight's ready. Come on."

Pulling my arm slowly out of my pocket, I walked over to the guard and stepped through the door, stopping next to the guard as he pulled the thick door shut. "How did Former die?" I asked after the door had banged shut.

"Rumor has it," the guard said as we started to walk the corridor towards the arenas, "he attacked Walker. Cut off a guard's hand before they even knew he was there." The ghost sounded startled that Former had been able to pull it off. "The guards that were there said he was screaming and yelling about how his brother was dead."

"So, Walker killed him?" My gaze had drifted to the floor, watching the well-worn rock pass under my feet.

"Nah," the guard said. "Knocked him out and threw him into a cell. Don't know when Former's scheduled to fight, but if he's not dead yet, he will be soon."

I nodded silently, swallowing heavily as we stepped up to the big arena. I could hear the screaming of the crowds, strangely quiet compared to usual, even before I stepped out onto the cold sand. "Thanks," I said softly.

The guard dropped a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. "Fight well, kid."

Then the fight was on.

My opponent was waiting for me, her head held high, black hair cascading down to her knees. "We despise these garments," she said haughty as I took my place and the guards flipped on the shield around us. "We would much rather wear our dress."

"Okay," I answered with a small shrug, pushing all of my problems to the back of my mind. Parents trapped in Pits, Walker about to ruin my life, my only chances of escape vanishing… not important at the moment. I had to win this fight. Shifting onto the balls of my feet, my blades shimmered into existence with a cool trickle of metal.

"Thou art merely a peasant." Her eyes narrowed as she glared at me. "We shalt not challenge one lower than us."

"Not really an option," I answered, walking in a circle around her, studying her, ignoring the odd way she was talking and the implied derogatory comments. She didn't have anything special that I could see – would Walker really throw me up against someone who couldn't defend herself?

Her head twisted, watching me move with a scowl. "We demand it!"

Rather than answering in words, I slipped towards her, flicking one of the blades towards her face to see how she'd react. Her eyes widened and she took a small step backwards – one that was a bit too small. The tip of my blade slid across her cheek and opened up a tiny slice that sluggishly started to ooze ectoplasm.

Her hand came up to her cheek, touching the cut with trembling fingers. "Thou hast hurt us," she whispered. She stared at the green liquid dripping down her fingers, then up at me, her princess-like eyes wide and surprised.

I crouched, ready to attack again. Getting rid of the ghost wouldn't take more than a few moments, and I could go back to everything falling apart. I tensed…

And she screamed. Power cascaded into her voice and created visible waves of an eerie red power that slammed through the air and crashed into me. I tripped over backwards, my hands coming up to cover my ears in pain. Suddenly, I realized that I was screaming as well – screaming in agony.

"_Thou shalt not hurt us!"_ she shrieked, energy gathering around her in a visible haze, the power in her voice keeping me curled up in a ball on the ground. I watched through narrowed, watering eyes as the ghost's aura grew and surrounded her in a mist of energy. Within a few moments, it was so thick that I couldn't see the ghost anymore. _"Thou shalt PERISH!"_

A fierce wind raced through the small arena, blasting away the reddish fog and banishing the last of the agonizing shrieks from the ghost. Into the suddenly quiet, I could hear my own voice, still screaming. I forced my mouth shut and scrambled to my feet, staring up into the bloody-red eyes of my opponent.

Who was, not too much to my surprise, a dragon.

The black scales on her face pulled back into a snarl, two-foot-long fangs glistening in the Pits' lights. "_Perish_," she growled, energy flooding into the simple word, forcing me to stumble backwards a few feet. Throwing herself onto her hind legs and spreading her night-black wings, the dragon's head nearly brushed the shield flickering about two-dozen feet overhead.

I blinked up at her for a few moments, trying to figure out the best way to slay a dragon. My relatively short blades wouldn't be able to do much more than inflict surface wounds – nothing fatal. Gaze drifting over the lithe form, I finally centered on the dragon's neck. Ghosts didn't have jugulars, per say, but that was the thinnest place on the ghost's body. I'd be able to slice almost half-way through it.

She moved before I could. Dropping down onto all fours, her head slashed down, snapping at me. I backpedaled out of the way, slicing at her fangs with my blades. The sharp, star-silver metal bounced painfully off the dragon's teeth, sending a shudder through my whole body. I took a few more steps backwards and then threw myself into the air.

Her head followed me like a snake, twisting around to follow my flight, murder glinting in her eyes. When I came too close to her back, her wings suddenly shot out and bashed me out of the way, sending me skidding through the air towards a wall. "_Peasant. Don't touch us."_

I caught my balance in the air just before I hit the wall, my feet coming to a rest on the plants like it was a floor as I craned my neck up to look at my opponent. "How fast are you, dragon?" I whispered, pushing myself back into the air with a burst of speed. The sudden acceleration left my stomach feeling queasy, the air torn from my lungs, but I got behind her head. I twisted around and sliced towards her neck, confident that my fight was nearly over.

_K-Cling_.

The blades bounced right off the dragon's scales, without even leaving a scratch.

"_Don't touch us!"_ the dragon shrieked, head coming around to snap at me.

I dodged with a curse, pushing myself up into the air. "What the hell?" I hissed as I twirled and looped away from the dragon's teeth, trying desperately to keep myself from getting caught. _Why didn't that work?_

A plume of cold air was my only warning; I threw myself to the left as the dragon snapped her jaws shut where I had just been. Then I had to swerve back to the right to avoid getting slashed by claws that were longer than my arm. _"PERISH!"_ the dragon screamed.

Looping up and over, I caught a quick glimpse of the black dragon as I skimmed the ghost shield. She was on her hind legs, her front claws ready to strike, her head following my every movement. One of my arms came up, palm pointed towards the dragon. Emerald energy coursed through me, headed for my hand. The blade intercepted it and the energy curled around it like emerald lightning for a fraction of a moment before sizzling through the air, slamming into the dragon's face much more powerfully than I would have managed on my own.

With a yell of agony, the dragon dropped to all fours, pawing at her face. When she looked back up at me, there wasn't a visible mark on her. The twin eyes were glowing a murderous red. Her whole body expanded as she took in a deep breath, then she let it out in a shriek of power. Visible sound waves blasted through the air and slammed me, chest-first, into the ghost shield.

I screamed as electricity from the ghost shield zapped into me, trying to throw me back into the pit. The dragon's screaming, however, was keeping me in place, pain etching through every molecule of my body. My hands pushed futilely at the shield, desperately attempting to get me away from the arching energy.

Through the screams and the agony that had my eyes screwed shut, I felt something… odd. Something that, despite the intense pain that was attacking my mind, caught my attention. I probably wouldn't have been able to think through the pain if it weren't for all of Walker's zappings with the collar. I was, just a little, getting used to it.

The feeling was in my hands – warm and prickling. I worked my eyes open for just a moment, watching as silver light played over the hand that was in front of my face. My hand… my _human_ hand… slipped through the ghost shield.

Then the dragon's shrieking stopped, my body succeeded into throwing itself away from the ghost shield, and I found myself dropping through the air, my hands back to their strange half-ghost, half-human state. I caught myself inches before I slammed painfully into the ground, stopping my fall just long enough to get my feet under me. My legs sagged when I put weight on them.

_Where's the dragon?_ I looked up, my breath rasping in a throat that was sore from screaming. The dragon was studying me, her red eyes burning.

"_Don't touch us," _she snarled at me, her wings settling down on her back.

"That didn't work," I breathed to myself. "Now what?" The blades, apparently, didn't work against dragons. Neither did ectoblasts. I took a few unsteady steps forwards before pushing myself back into the air to drift closer to her, just out of range of her snapping jaws and sharp claws. "You like the cold, dragon?"

She growled in response, her tail lashing towards me. I had to dodge, trying to keep her face in sight, looking for that odd core of cold that was always inside of me. The only _real_ problem with my ice powers was that I couldn't kill a ghost using it. Ghosts were too inherently cold themselves to be affected by it that much. Damage them, hurt them, trap them, yes. But I still wouldn't be able to cut through the dragon's scales to finish her off.

Hearing the air whistle as her black-scaled tail flew by inches from my ear, I twirled a section of that frozen cold up through my arms. It slid through my veins, curling into my hands to form an almost visible blue aura. Within a heart-beat, I had collected enough power and I threw out my hand, the energy flying away from me like a baseball. I twisted in the air, following the first blast of energy with the second I'd created in my other hand. They crashed into the dragon's chest at almost the same moment, exploding into blue, crystalline ice.

Encased in ice from her neck to her feet, the dragon struggled, throwing her head from side to side. "_Don't touch us!" _she screamed, flexing her body. When she took a deep breath the ice shattered around her, sliding to the ground like miniature ice burgs. Her head flipped towards me, her mouth opening to scream in my direction, but I was already moving.

Another twin set of blasts slammed into her before she could scream, one covering her head in a thick layer of ice, the other freezing her wings to her sides. "Enough with the screaming," I said, throwing another ball of the icy energy towards her, wrapping her totally in a frozen cocoon. "Now, how do I end this?"

The silence didn't last for more than a few seconds. Red energy exploded around the dragon, the scream that she'd created sending the ice scattering like tiny spears. I crossed my arms in front of my face, slipping intangible for the few moments it took the ice to fly through me and skewer into the walls.

I lowered my hands to see how much damage she'd received, and blinked in surprise. The dragon was wrapped in a red mist – one that seemed to be shrinking. After just a few moments, the mist scattered, leaving a dazed looking woman behind. "Don't touch us," she murmured, looking around in apparent confusion. "We will not allow peasants to touch us."

Whatever the cause of the sudden de-dragoning, I wasn't about to let it go. If she managed to turn _back_ into a dragon, I'd be in trouble. I was almost positive that she was more vulnerable in this form. I was in the air before I'd even finished the thought, arrowing towards her.

She looked up, her red eyes having time to blink at me just once before I removed her head from her shoulders. In a cascade of ectoplasm, her body disintegrated. A small green ghost light formed above the pool of freezing liquid that used to be her, hovered for a moment, then danced its way through the ghost shield and off into the Pit.

I walked up the hallway leading out of the Pit, listening to the almost-silent crowd discuss my 'win'. The stands had been filled with silent, green-cloaked ghosts – Skulker's rebels. The few ghosts that hadn't been wearing green had been the only ones cheering the end of the fight, and even those had been quickly cut off. It was almost creepy. I was used to the loud screaming, jeers, and bets being called out overhead. The silence was…

"Phantom," a voice said and I jerked out of my thoughts, staring at the ghost being escorted down the hallway. "Nice to see you again."

It was the girl from earlier – the one I'd thought was Dani. White hair was pulled back into a ponytail, her green eyes filled with danger and sparkling with enjoyment. Her Pits-style uniform was loose on her small frame, but she moved with the lithe grace of someone who knew how to control herself.

"I'm Specter," she said when I didn't say anything, pausing to hold out her hand.

I took it, feeling the intense power that cascaded inside of her. She was nearly as powerful as I was. "Hi," I murmured before pulling my hand back. Shivers were running down my spine as she gazed at me like I was some sort of delicious desert.

She nodded to me, then turned to head towards her fight with a sort of sweeping, creepy grace that a normal girl her age wouldn't have possessed. "I _will_ see you soon," she said to me before she vanished around the corner.

"I sure hope not," I whispered, shaking my head.

"Sure hope not what, Punk?"

I froze at the sound of Walker's voice, dread slamming into me like a brick wall.

"We have a date, remember? Let's go get my knife."

* * *

"_Holy…" the young woman's voice drifted into silence as she let the notebook fall from her numb fingers. "Everything's falling apart."_

_Quietly, she picked up the notebook, paged to the back, and stared down at the photograph still tucked in the back page. The warm, human faces still shown through the scorch marks and the water stains. "I wonder if you survived," she whispered, then sighed. "Of course you didn't. The boy didn't live since Walker did, and you probably died even before he did."_

_She pressed the picture to her chest for a moment, grieving for two people she'd never met. Then, slipping the picture back to where it was, she paged through the notebook to where she'd left off. Flipping to the next page, her eyes scanned the short entry. At the bottom, the words ended in a scrawl, cutting off mid-sentence. Her forehead wrinkled for a moment as she turned the page again._

_There was nothing more._

"_Last page," she breathed, a little worried about what she'd do when there was nothing left for her to read. But, after a moment, she looked down at the final page of the boy's notebook and continued to read…_


	21. Page 16

"We have a date, remember? Let's go get my knife."

The words were still ringing in my head heartbeats later, echoing oddly due to the small passageway that led from the pits to the cells. My whole world seemed to be frozen as I stared at Walker in a strange mixture of pure terror and dread. The smile on Walker's face was monstrous, his raisin-like dried eyes gleaming with the pleasure he was getting from tormenting me. Swallowing heavily, I just nodded my head. _What am I going to do?_

"You took too long to win, Punk," Walker said angrily as he walked with me down the halls. "I almost thought you weren't going to."

Glancing down at my feet, I watched the worn rocky floor pass by, basically ignoring what Walker was saying. I was trying hard to think, trying to come up with some sort of plan. I _had_ to give Walker back his knife – but the second I did, Walker would notice the lack of the crystal on the end. The crystal that was the key to the Pits. The thing that opened doors and gave Walker complete and total control of the place. The _one_ thing I couldn't give him because I didn't have it.

_What the hell am I going to do?_

"Stupid dragon ghost, I shouldn't have let you go up against her anyways. I keep forgetting that the ectoluminum blades can't cut through dragon scales."

There was no way I could just play dumb and try to make Walker think I don't know anything. I'd already told him that I knew about the rat, and the key, and that the knife was in my cell. Walking into my room and then trying to deny any sort of knowledge would be… idiotic on a suicidal level. So I would have to give him something.

But I couldn't give him the knife! My teeth clenched painfully as my brain raced around in pointless circles.

I'd have to give him the knife, there was just no way around it. Walker wasn't going to leave my cell without it, not now that I've admitted it's in there. He'll go nuts over the fact that the crystal was missing. But maybe I could just tell him that I didn't know what had happened to the crystal – or maybe pretend that the crystal hadn't been there from the start. Maybe that would work.

A sudden fist slamming into my head caught me off-guard, sending me collapsing against one of the walls of the corridor. Blinking stars out of my eyes, I looked up at Walker, tensing when I saw the fury in his face. _What did I do?_

"One will listen when spoken to," he snarled.

"Sorry." The word popped out of my mouth before I was really even aware of what was going on. I fought down a scowl at the automatic response, instead pushing myself to my feet and waiting for Walker to do something more.

He glared at me for a moment longer. "Say 'thank you', Punk."

_For what?_ But my mouth moved. "Thank you." I watched Walker out of the corner of my eye as he slowly deflated, his fury dissolving, and felt my own muscles relax in response. After a few beats, he turned and kept walking down the corridor, not looking back to see if I was following him. I trailed behind, confused as to what had just happened, but not expecting to ever figure it out. Walker was nuts, I'd just give him that.

When we passed by the room my parents were being kept in, I stared at the door with the bloody numbers written on the outside, but I didn't slow my footsteps. I had to keep up with Walker. The only way I was going to get the out of here alive was to at least pretend that I was Walker's little subservient fighter.

As Walker turned an old-fashioned key in the lock on my door and pushed it open, I crossed my fingers behind my back. I could only hope and wish that I wasn't _really_ turning into someone who would follow Walker's every demand. I had been lately… but I had reasons, right? I wasn't doing it because I wanted to.

I shuddered, thinking the logic sounded eerily familiar. I hadn't wanted to kill people, and I had… but I'd had reasons. And then… I started to live with it, to do it without having to do all sorts of mental back flips to keep myself from being a murderer, to _almost_ starting to enjoy it. I liked fighting and I liked the adrenaline rush and the fierce focus that it took to survive.

Was this anything different? Was I going to start _wanting _to follow Walker's orders?

Walker held out his hand, pointing into my cell, not even bothering to demand that I bring him his knife. I knew he wanted it. He knew I knew he wanted it. I walked forwards and slipped past his white form, being careful not to touch him. Taking a few steps into my cell, I closed my eyes. There was nothing left to do but give him the knife and pray that he fell for my story.

My eyes flickered open and I twisted around, heading for the loose stone in the wall. Glancing one last time at Walker, I worked my fingers into the crack between the stones and pulled. The square stone popped out into my hands and I stared into the dark hole it created.

Walker moved closer, the cold pulsing off of him and sending waves of goose bumps racing down my arms. "Get it," Walker breathed.

I nodded, reaching into the hole. My fingers moved around, probing for the cold steel.

And felt nothing but rock.

"It… it's not in there," I whispered.

Walker furiously pushed me out of the way, stuffing his own hand into the small hole. When his burning eyes turned towards me, my breath caught in my throat. Visible, tangible energy was flowing around Walker like a cape, swirling around him like snakes, snapping at my toes. I stumbled backwards away from him.

"_Where. Is. It_?" he snarled, his voice barely audible above his rage.

"I-I-I don't know," I stuttered, glancing from the hole in the wall to Walker and back. "That's where I put it!"

Walker screamed in fury. His energy sliced towards me, creeping up my legs in a wash of murderous energy. "_Kill them_." He turned on his heel and pointed next door. "Drag them into this room and _kill them._"

"No!" I reached forwards and grabbed Walker's arm. "Don't-"

I didn't get out another word. The collar around my neck flared into life and sent me to the ground, screaming and twisting. Walker must have tweaked something, because the energy snapping around me had never _hurt _so much before. It sliced into my joints and crackled in my bones and shrieked through my head. When it faded, I was lying curled up on the floor, unable to take a breath, my nose dripping blood onto the floor and down my throat. "No," I rasped, but the word was barely audible even to me. "No, please…"

Beyond my open door, I could hear my parents. "Get your hands off me," my mom snapped, but the guards apparently weren't listening. Both of them were dragged bodily into my room and tossed onto the floor. "Danny!" they both gasped.

I shook my head, tears streaking down my cheeks, unable to get my muscles working well enough to get up off the floor. "No, Walker, please."

Energy gathered around Walker's hand, pointing it at my father. "Which will die first, Punk?"

"Please…" A flare of energy made me close my eyes and look away, a sob catching in my throat. I could see my father's broken body in my mind's eye – I wasn't willing to look at him for real.

"He's still alive, boss," the rough voice of one of the guards said.

I looked around quickly, spotting my father lying on the other side of the cell, his jumpsuit charred, but his chest definitely still moving as he breathed. My heart leapt; my parent's crazy special 'anti-ghost' jumpsuits really worked.

"I'll just shoot him again," Walker growled.

"No!" I finally got my hands and legs coordinated and pushed myself onto my hands and knees. Something that was sparkling just under my cot grabbed my attention and I stumbled forwards, reaching under to grab it. The knife… the rat had moved the knife… I could get it and save my parents. "I… I…"

I yanked it out, twisting around it show it to Walker. The staff LJ had been holding was securely in my grasp. My mind swirled chaotically and tears sprang into my eyes – it wasn't the knife. It was just LJ's stupid weapon.

"What is that?" Walker snapped, snatching it out of my grasp.

"LJ's staff weapon," I whispered, defeated. "He moved the knife."

Walker studied it for a long moment as I stared at the ground, unable to come up with any sort of helpful thoughts. My parents were going to die and I'd have to watch. Sadistically, my brain was informing me that there was a positive point in the whole deal: at least Walker wasn't making _me_ kill them. I shoved that part of my mind into a dark corner. I seem to have a lot of dark corners in my mind now.

"Interesting," Walker whispered, turning the staff over and over in his hand. "Look at the crystal on the side."

_Crystal…_

The rat could get through the portal and somehow got in and out of my room. Of _course_ the stupid rat had a key – one key per portal, apparently. The tears in my eyes made my vision blurry before I blinked, dislodging them to roll down my cheeks.

I'd given Walker his stupid key anyways.

"Put the humans back in their cell," Walker said slowly.

I didn't even look up as my dad was dragged out of the cell, my mother following after a bit of a struggle. It didn't matter. Walker had a key. My life and my parents' lives no longer mattered to him.

When the door slammed shut, I flinched and pushed myself to my feet. I swayed for a moment, staring dazedly around the room, before dropping onto my cot. With a wince, I stood back up and dug under the thin blanket, searching for the thing I'd sat on.

I knew what it was as soon as I laid fingers on the cold, grimy blade. Yanking it out, I glared down at Walker's knife, feeling a swirl of fury tingle through me. My hands were trembling in anger as I clenched my fingers around the damned thing, willing it to explode. Or Walker to explode. Or the _idiotic _rat to explode.

Or, preferably, all three at once.

With a scream, I flung the knife across the small cell. It lodged in the door, the dull point driven nearly an inch into the hard wood, and vibrated for a few moments.

Dropping back down onto my cot, I curled my legs up to my chest and closed my eyes. He's got my parents. He's got his key. Everyone with some sort of escape plan was dead or gone. I had no idea what to do next.

That's it. Game over.

Walker wins.

Dear reader, Walker left me an untold amount of time ago – I still can't tell how much time passes in the Ghost Zone – and I haven't really done much since. The knife's still lodged in the door; I really don't see the point of hiding it anymore. There's nothing to do but sit here and contemplate just how much I screwed up. Eventually I ended up writing in this silly notebook, telling a story that nobody will ever read.

If anyone does ever read this, I'm sure they will be able see how completely _stupid_ I've been. This whole thing is my fault; I fell for it, hook, line, and sinker. The rat, who I stupidly trusted, got me into this mess and made me into a willing pawn. Walker's played every card he had, leaving me with absolutely no cards left in my hands and staring stupidly at the door. It's my fault that my parents are going to die. I might not be the one to slit their throats, but I'm the one who set the blade against their skin nonetheless.

And to top it all off, I had a key in my cell this past day or so and I didn't even know it. The rat had _given_ me a way out of here – I could have saved my parents and ran… and now I couldn't even do that. I can't save me… I can't save my parents… I can't save anything.

Some hero I am. What an idiot I've been, thinking I could go up against someone like Walker and the rat – spirits who have been around for a _lot_ longer than me. What made me think I could possibly win this? I really never had a chance.

It's hard to think about the fact that the next person I see in a pit will probably be one of my parents. Walker _might_ keep them alive now that he's got his key – he could use them to make me do just about anything – but I'm not sure he'll be able to resist the temptation to see what I'd do if I was thrown in a fight against them. Walker will eventually get Jazz, and Valerie, and Sam and Tucker (if they really are still alive) and I'll end up being nothing but his slave in order to keep them safe.

Everyone I could use to help me is gone. I'm never going to trust the rat again, Former and his brother are dead, my parents are locked in a room I can't get into, and I have no way of getting in contact with Skulker… if that rebellion thing is even real. I don't have anything left to fight with but this journal, a picture, a burned scrunchie, and the whatever-it-is Former left for me.

It's just me. Just Danny Fenton.

And I don't know what to do.

* * *

_The young human hesitated, staring at the words written on the page and running her finger over the smudged pencil lead. "That's it, huh?" She flipped the page, just to make sure. Staring down at the blank page for a moment, she sighed. The story was over; there was no more._

_"Why'd he stop?" she wondered aloud as she closed the notebook and leaned back against the wall. Closing her eyes, she shook her head. "It's because he left his cell and never came back. Wonder what happened to him."_

_Carefully getting to her feet, she put the notebook carefully back in the corner of the room under the cot. "I hope he made it out of here." She picked up the knife next to her, weighing the heavy metal in her hand before hiding it back in the hole behind the loose rock. "And why'd he put the knife back in its hiding spot? What happened to make him want to do that?"_

_She settled back down against the wall. It wasn't much later when two guards appeared, pushed her roughly out of her cell, strapped two bloody and dirty blades onto her arms, and led her out into the pits._

_Staring into the green eyes of her opponent, she ceased to care about what had happened to the mysterious boy that had written in the notebook._

_And she never would again._


	22. Page 17

_A flicker of light under the cot was the only sign of movement in the empty room that once held a doomed young human female and an impossible human-ghost hybrid. Had there been anyone there to watch, they would have seen something strange happening under the wooden platform. There was a ghost light that seemed to be reading from a battered red notebook…_

_…only there were no words on the page._

* * *

Some stories are told in ink, others are told in graphite, some are told in pixels and binary code, and yet others are told by words. But there are some stories are so desperate, so powerful, so _legendary_ that they are actually written into the air itself. Stories that, even if they were never written down or told, would always be remembered.

Such is the story of the young teenager that has been locked in this room for, as the humans tell time, a few days short of three months. It is a story that is engraved into the very atmosphere of this place. He wrote down a good bit of it but, due to circumstances beyond his control, could not write down the ending. We highly doubt he ever will, so we have taken it upon ourselves to translate that which he smote into the walls, floors, doors… into the very _people_ of this place.

As we stand watch over those that will not live, we shall transform the story from pure feeling and thought into words for you. Just remember that the story scribed in the air is _Danny's_ story – even as we tell the story that Danny imparted to us, it is no longer the young hybrid who is writing.

It is us, we, them.

We do this because we owe the hybrid much more than a warning to his parents that ultimately went unheeded. Our freedom means more than can truly be repaid during the course of a short, human lifespan. But mostly, we do this because we wish to. We wish the truth to be known.

You see, Danny's view of the world was rather limited. He was mostly human – which can be an annoying censoring problem in and of itself – and he was locked in his cell. It was only in the last few pages of his journal that he was starting to uncover the truth about his imprisonment, and even then all he learned was by mistake. What he saw and told and wrote was filtered through his own knowledge and experiences.

Danny did not – _could_ not – watch the death of Former's young brother at the hands of a battle-hungry ghost named Specter. Danny would not have been able to witness Former's attack on Walker, nor the human's subsequent incarceration. Danny would never have had a way of knowing that instead of crushing the human rebellion as Walker assumed it would, Former's capture inflamed it by turning the human into a martyr. Danny would never realize on his own that Former had been freed from his cell by the rebellion before he could be thrown into a fight to die and had been hiding, plotting, and planning the freedom of thousands.

We know, because we watched. We _had_ to watch back then; we were forced to dance. Now, we watch because it is our choice, our duty, and we dance to cheer up those who will soon join our ranks.

Perhaps the thing Danny knew least as he sat on his cot, scribbling the last few words into his notebook, was who was standing outside the door of his cell with a stolen set of keys. One person that could completely change his world.

* * *

I dropped the notebook back on my cot and let my head fall back with a heavy sigh. "What am I going to do?" I muttered sourly, kicking one of my feet out to dangle over the edge of the hard bed. This had to have been the fiftieth time I asked that, and still the answer was the same: I don't know.

It rankled against my nerves. I had nothing to do in this cell but stare at the wall and contemplate how much I screwed everything up and how little I could do about it. I was well and truly at the mercy of Walker's crazy plots.

Jumping to my feet, I paced back and forth, eventually ending up staring at the door of my cell, my hand lightly touching the rough, charred wood. The knife I'd thrown earlier was still lodged in the thick wood. "What I really need is to get out of this room," I whispered. "There's just no way out without a key."

On impulse, I pulled on the door… but it was firmly locked shut. "To get out I need a key. How can I get a key?"

_To get a key, you need to be out of the room. _I sighed at the thought and shook my head. "There's got to be _something_ I can do. Someone I can talk to."

I wrapped my hand around Walker's knife and yanked it out of the door, reaching up to trace the gouge with a finger before turning around and starting to pace again. "To get out of the cell I need a key, to get a key I need to get out of the cell. No wonder this stupid place is called a prison." Eying the door, willing it to open, I dropped back down on the cot.

Suddenly a key jangled in the lock. I blinked, startled, then stuffed Walker's knife under the blanket of my cot and scrambled to my feet. _Now what?_ My heart thudded loudly in my chest, my mind racing with the different ideas of what Walker might be back to do. Killing my parents was one terrifying thought, followed closely by one about coming to dangle their lives over my head.

He could make me do just about anything. He already _had_ on many levels – I'd murdered innocent ghosts and humans alike for Walker's cruel idea of entertainment. What other things would I be willing to do to keep my family alive for a few more days?

The door swung open and a tall figure stepped in, quickly pushing the door shut behind him. I stared at him in dazed surprise, collapsing onto my cot. "You… you…"

"Hi," Gory Former said with a tense smile.

"Y-y-you're dead," I finally managed to get out.

He arched an eyebrow and a sad smile drifted across his face. "Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated."

My brain kicked into gear and I licked my lips. "I heard about your brother."

His tiny smile looked a little fixed, but he nodded. "Listen, kid, do you still have the key I gave you?"

The world, for what had to be the twelfth time since I was thrown into this crazy place, fell totally silent and still. _He gave me a key? I STILL had a key!? How many keys did I have in this room? _"Um…" I looked around the small cell, studying the walls for a silent moment, unable to believe what he had told me. "Maybe. What's it look like?"

He gave me a blank look. "The motherboard I gave you. You still have it, right?"

"Uh, yes." I reached over and held it up, the badly-soldered circuits glinting in the flickering ghost lights.

"Excellent." This time his grin looked almost real. He strode across the room and plucked it out of my fingers, examining it. "Sorry I didn't explain it better; I didn't think I'd be alive much longer and I just tossed it in the envelope," he murmured, an odd sad look in his eyes. "But yeah," he said and glanced up at me, "it's a key."

"So we can get out of here…" I breathed, climbing to my feet. When he simply shook his head, I blinked, staring at him. "Why not?"

"Walker knows I'm still alive," Former said simply, turning his circuit board over and over in his fingers. "The exits are crawling with guards, everything is shielded, and the doors – which neither a human or ghost can phase through – are locked shut. I can get you out of this room, but we can't get out of the Pits. Besides," he smiled a little and stuck the circuit board in his pocket, "this key doesn't open _doors_."

_What's it open? _I breathed out slowly, trying to think. "So…"

"We have a plan to get out of here," Former said softly, throwing me off topic. "The ghosts constantly underestimate us humans and we can use that. We can deal with most of the guards, but we need a great big distraction." His eyes fixed on mine.

"Me."

He nodded, even though I hadn't really asked a question. "You, if you're willing."

Glancing down at the floor, I squeezed my eyes shut. This is what I had been hoping for – a plan, an escape, a way out… but would it work? "My parents are next door."

"I know," he said, "but I can't free them yet; Walker will just use you to get them back. We'll have to free them while you're pulling off your distraction." A hand touched my shoulder and I opened my eyes to look at him. "Danny, I promise we'll free them – please help us."

I swallowed and nodded. "What do you want me to do?"

"Simple." His grin didn't quite reach his eyes. "Lose your next fight."

* * *

"I want to see my parents," I whispered when he was done explaining his 'plan'. It was really a good plan – the distraction I'd be playing would do exactly what he wanted it to do. The great 'Danny Phantom' losing a fight would draw most of the guards over to watch and I'd definitely have Walker's complete attention. Nobody would notice the fighters being smuggled out the front door by Skulker's rebellion.

Former hesitated but nodded, fiddling with the keys in his hand. "You can't stay long – the guards will be out soon, making their rounds. I need to be hidden again before they show up." He pulled on my door and it swung open before he gestured out into the hallway. When I walked past him he reached out and grabbed my shoulder, squeezing it. "Danny…"

"I'm fine," I said, pushing his hand off my shoulder. "I know how to lose a fight; I've had plenty of practice with Dash. Don't worry about that part of the plan."

"That's not what I meant," he said softly and trailed me down the hallway to the next door. "I know what I'm asking you to do."

"Drop it." Crossing my arms, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "It's not like I have much of a life to go back to anyways." I'm just a murderer – wanting to fight, not minding killing. What kind of life would I be able to have anymore? Would I ever be able to be 'normal' again if I made it home? Not that I was crazy about dying, but getting my parents free would help. "Open the door, please."

Former studied me for a long moment before he stuck one of the keys in the lock of my parents' door and twisted it. But instead of pushing the door open, he turned to me. "I'm still thinking, Danny. I'll find a way to get the shield down and get through all the guards and rescue you too. We just don't know how yet."

"Don't worry about it," I whispered and pushed past him. I was pretty sure I'd be able to come up with some way of keeping myself alive, no matter how much Former assumed that me losing would equate with me dying. My hand pressed against the cold, hard door and I tossed the thoughts out of my mind. _Stop thinking about it for now._

"Five minutes," Former said quietly and stepped out of the way.

With a nod, I pushed the door open and stepped in. Both of my parents were asleep on the single cot on the room, my mom lying in my dad's arms. Wondering how they could have slept through the door opening – a noise that never failed to wake _me_ up, heart pounding – I walked silently up to them and crouched down. My parents looked so peaceful that, for a moment, I didn't want to wake them up.

Finally, unable to keep from touching them any longer, I reached forwards and touched my mother's shoulder.

_That_ woke her up. Her eyes flew open, her breath catching in her throat, her body flinching slightly before her brain caught up. For the longest time she just stared at me, tears starting to glisten in her eyes. Then, in a sudden movement I could barely follow, she was out of bed, her arms wrapped around me, squeezing tightly. "Danny, Danny, Danny, Danny…" she whispered over and over.

I hugged her back tightly, burying my head in her shoulder, unable to get any words to form in my throat. When another set of warm arms wrapped around me, I didn't bother to open my eyes to check. I could feel my father's comforting bulk.

"I'm sorry I didn't listen to your warning," Mom breathed, pushing me away just enough to look into my eyes. I glanced into her loving eyes for just a moment and then looked away, uncomfortable with what she'd see reflected in mine.

"It's okay," I said with a smile.

Her fingers drifted through my uncut, dirty hair and traced over my face. Dad, who was crouched beside her, seemed to be unable to do anything but stare at me and nod along with Mom's words. "How did you get in here?"

"A key." I shrugged a bit, glancing back at where Former stood in the doorway. "There's quite a few of them around, apparently. But listen." I took a breath and looked from one to the other. "We've got a plan to get out of here. There's going to be a distraction and all the prisoners are going to be freed." I watched their eyes light up and smiled. "Get to the front door – the ghosts wearing green will be carrying everyone back to the human world."

Dad grinned, but Mom's face took on a kind of worried look. "Where are you going to be?"

I looked down at the floor. "I'm the distraction," I whispered.

"And you'll join us where?"

I couldn't look at her when I answered – I couldn't let her know that I was lying to her. "The front door. I'm going to fight long enough to keep everyone distracted and then I'll make a run for it." _All I'll have in my way is every guard and Walker himself and a ghost shield I can't get through – but I'll try Mom. _I looked up at her and smiled, feeling a burst of happiness when she smiled hesitantly back. _But please leave if I don't show up_.

"Danny," Former said, "time's up."

"I've got to go," I said, unwillingly getting to my feet. "We can't let the guards know we can get out of our cells." I threw my arms around my parents one last time, knowing in my heart that I probably would never see them again. "I love you guys."

"I love you, Danny," Mom whispered back, tears on her cheeks.

Pushing myself to my feet, I slipped back to the door.

"Danny!" Dad called suddenly and I hesitated, turning around. He stared at me for a moment, his eyes glittering with tears. "I'm proud of you."

When Former pulled the door shut, cutting off the sight of my parents, I walked silently back to my cell. Just before I pulled open the door, Former stopped me, digging the circuit board back out of his pocket and holding it up. "Hang on, kid."

I watched him, a little dazedly, as he pushed a combination of the buttons, then reached forwards and fiddled with the leathery collar around my neck. "What?" I finally asked.

"Deactivating your collar," he murmured. "I won't take it off and you'll have to pretend to get shocked to keep them from knowing we can deactivate these things, but…" His hands went back to his sides, the circuit board slipping back into a pocket. He studied me for a long moment, then rocked back on his heels. "Good luck, Danny."

_Good luck dying? _"What happens if I get a fighter that's a lot weaker than me – one who won't fight back? I can't lose that kind of a fight." I wasn't entirely sure where the question had come from and the idea of throwing a Pit fight left a morbid, unsettled feeling in my stomach.

"We fixed the fights. You're going up against Specter… she'll keep you busy."

_Oh._ My gaze trained down on my feet. _Okay._

The door closed, the lock rattled, and I was alone.

* * *

It was a little weird, just letting my mind drift while I waited for the world to end. Dozens of snapshots of memories drifted past me. Memories of subduing the attacking turkey last Thanksgiving with Jazz, and making cookies with Mom, and helping Dad clean up piles of goo. Not all of them were particularly _pleasant_ memories, but I sat there and let myself remember them, not really noticing when I started to slowly rock and forth, my knees pulled up against my chest, tears curling down my face.

_Will I ever see them again?_ I hated to think about the fact that I might _not_ – they were so close and I'd do just about anything to keep them safe. They were my parents; I loved them. Former's plan would really _work_. It would get _them_ free.

Me, though…

My stomach hurt. Swallowing heavily, I buried my face in my knees. Was I really willing to give my _life_ to save my parents? I'd agreed to it earlier, but could I really go through with it? Create a distraction, sure… but _die_?

I'd definitely go to the fight. I'd definitely keep everyone's attention on me for as long as I could, really draw out the fight to give everyone a chance to get away. Then… would I die? Would I really allow myself to just stand there, knowing how close I was to freedom, and let other fighter kill me? I'd done it before – not that it had worked – but I'd been having a bit of a personality crisis back then.

Would I, _could_ I, go through with it and let myself die?

_No._ No, that wasn't me – I didn't have it in me to just sit there and die, not after I promised my mother that I'd try my hardest to get free. I'd draw out the fight, then I'd either win or die trying. Once I won, I'd try to escape. Not that there really was a way for me to get out of the fight after I won; Walker's shield, every guard, and Walker himself would form a barrier I wouldn't be able to get through.

But I'd try.

I'd try my hardest to survive this horrible fate that had seemed to have snuck up on me, curled and ready to pounce and end my life. I just needed a plan.

First things first: I needed a way to get through the ghost shield. _How can I do that?_

Crossing my legs and hovering a few feet above the ground, I stared down at my hand, thinking back to the last fight – the one with the dragon-ghost. My hand had done _something_; it had managed to get through the ghost shield. For just a moment, part of me had been forcibly changed back to human. The shock from the ghost shield must have acted like that stupid thing Plasmius likes to shock me with to turn me human.

_How to get through a ghost shield_… I mused, flexing my fingers and letting my mind wander. _I'd have to be human. I wonder…_

I reached into my soul, searching for the familiar warmth that had always accompanied my human form. Letting myself remember what it was like to be human was like looking for an old, worn, leather jacket. I needed to prod those feelings into full bloom and make them swamp my entire body.

Nothing happened for the longest time. As I floated there, staring down at my hand, mind focused on the single task I'd set myself, the door slid open and a bowl of glowing mush was dropped into my cell. I didn't care – I wasn't hungry. It hit me, just for a moment, that I hadn't eaten anything since Former's brother handed me that loaf of bread, something that had to have been days, if not maybe not weeks ago, but I pushed it aside. That wasn't a human thought.

I was trying to _be_ human. My body, my thoughts, my whole soul aligning with the life that flowed through my veins.

It was laughably easy to do when I was a pure ghost – my human life was so _different_ from what I felt as a ghost. Black and white. Hot and cold. Just a pendulum swinging back and forth between life and death.

Now I _almost_ human. Becoming totally human wasn't going to feel that much different from what I was feeling now and it wasn't nearly as easy. The pendulum of my transformation had stopped and getting it swinging again was difficult. I had to actually sit and think about what it was like to _be_ a human. What kind of thoughts, what kind of feelings…

My fingers tingled painfully and a sparkle of silvery light washed over them. For just a moment, I could feel the warm, human blood flowing through my hand… then it all vanished again. "Excellent," I whispered. It wasn't so impossible after all.

I focused, staring at my hands, trying to relax. Trying to _remember_…

_Stomach gurgling…_

_Headaches…_

_The soft thump of a heartbeat…_

_Warmth…_

_Life…_

_Humanity…_

Light flickered and flashed around me, throwing the walls into an eerie, stark relief. I dropped to the ground, my totally human feet feeling the cold floor through the thin soles of my shoes. I breathed out, my breath fogging in the chill air, and my stomach twisted angrily, annoyed at the lack of food inside of it.

Then it slipped from my grip and I was back to my hybrid form in a flare of cold silver – slow heartbeat, cold blood, not caring about food or the temperature…

But I was grinning wildly as I drifted back into the air. If I could do that at the right moment, I'd be able to get through the shield.

I'd only have to get through every one of Walker's guards… and Walker himself… and I'd be free.

* * *

What was probably hours later, I was still floating there bored out of my mind. I'd managed to figure out how to 'trigger' my transformation on cue, but holding it for more than a second was proving to be impossible. And, based on the splitting headache that was throbbing behind my eyes and the sharp aches that were invading every molecule of my body, my body wasn't too appreciative of my efforts.

In a fit of 'I need _something_ to do', I yanked out the loose stone in the wall and tossed Walker's knife into the hole. Walker knew about the hiding spot, but I doubted he'd look in it again. He seemed to be convinced that the rat had the knife. Any way it worked out, I didn't particularly want him to get the thing back even thought the knife was lacking the all-important crystal.

The picture of my family went carefully in the back of the notebook I'd wished for from Desiree, and the notebook was stuck under my cot in a vague attempt to keep Walker from finding it. I had no doubt that he was going to tear apart my cell the first chance he got in a desperate attempt to find his key, but at least I was going to _try_. The pencil I'd been using was nothing more than a stub, whittled away by pages and pages of writing and using my blades to keep the point sharp; the pencil was tossed under my bed as well.

I kind of hoped nobody would ever get to read it. If I had my way, Walker would be dead and, if I could believe the backstabbing rat, the Pits would 'revert' to where they had been all these years and pull out of the Ghost Zone. Nobody would be able to get in.

If someone ever did read it, though, I wondered what they'd think of my story. I wondered if they'd think I was crazy, scribbling down a story that no one would ever read. And I wondered if they would be as confused as I had been these past…. however long it's been… or if they would see the truth so much faster than I had.

Would some reader see me as nothing more than the annoying child Walker sees?

Finding my way back to the center of the cell, I floated up a few feet and closed my eyes, humming softly. The echo in my voice combined with the reverberation from the cell's rocky walls always created an eerie sound – one that had grown to be strangely soothing after all this time. I let my voice slip from random notes to an actual simple melody, humming about Mary and her little lamb. The ghost lights – who seem to be _much_ more intelligent than I originally gave them credit for – danced along with the music.

One of them slowly drifted down towards me, bobbing and weaving in the air. I held out a hand and it 'perched' on my palm for a moment, strangely warm-cold. A few tendrils of green light curled out from the light and coiled around my fingers.

And suddenly I wasn't in my room.

I was twirling and dancing through the endless corridors of the Pits, my mind flying faster than my body could ever hope to follow, all of my worries dashing away. _You should see this, little oyster_, the light whirling beside me said, yanking me forwards.

I followed. For a few spectacular moments I was completely careless about what was about to happen to me, noting that this sort of existence wasn't so bad after all. We swirled past Walker, who was talking to some guards, and cascaded around guards patrolling the empty hallways, never seen, never bothered, never stopped. We ended up near the room that used to be Former's office… the place where all the pits fights start. The light paused, then dove towards the ground, slipping under a door on the opposite side of the hallway from Former's office.

Hesitating, I didn't follow right away. Former's kid brother had told me about the room, ever so briefly, and I still remembered it.

_"That," he gestured at the door, "is a room you never want to see the inside of, trust me."_

_"What's in there?"_

_Shuddering, he just shook his head. "I hope you never find out. I was put in there once, a long time ago. It was one of the first rooms I ever saw, and I still have nightmares about it."_

But doubts and fears didn't have a place in this ghost light state that I had found myself and I followed, ducking under the door.

Two things hit me simultaneously: the first being the stench of rotting bodies. _"People go in, but nobody ever comes out." _I recoiled, racing for the relative safety of the ceiling, wishing I could close my eyes and not see what was in the room. Human bodies, in various states of decomposition, were tossed randomly into the small room. Pools and splatters of dried blood formed macabre images on the floor and the walls, limp bodies tossed on top of piles of bones, picked clean by things I didn't want to think about. _That answers the question of where they throw the human bodies after they lose a Pit fight_, my mind whispered sourly.

The second thing to hit me was the fact that there was movement in the room. Two figures were curled up in blankets, their heads close together, whispering back and forth. What they were talking about, I couldn't tell.

I dropped a little lower, letting the light from my body illuminate their faces. The first looked up – Former squinting his eyes a little – and I shivered. _This is where he is forced to stay?_

The ghost light that had drawn me here danced down through the air and twirled around me. _That is not what you are here to see, young oyster._

The second figure looked up, tears streaking down a very familiar face. I had no doubt what kind of torment she was going through right at the moment, huddled in this gruesome room. I couldn't really feel anything more than a dead sort of stunned as I floated, watching eerie lights dance in her human eyes.

_Oh no…_

* * *

I'd left the ghost lights and had been back in my hybrid body for the longest time before something new happened in this thing I call my life. The sight of _her _here in the Pits had given me a lot to think about, but my mind had eventually dropped into something that almost resembled sleep – a kind of dazed waiting for something to happen. When the door to my cell suddenly slammed open, I flinched out of my bored stupor and dropped painfully to the ground. "Ow…" I muttered before glancing up. _Crud._

Energy was flaring around Walker like a cyclone of power. He raised an arm and I caught just a glimpse of the rat's spear in his hand before he hurled it in my direction. I had only the slightest moment to flinch, expecting to be hit, before Walker sent a blast of power towards the flying object and disintegrated it right in front of my face.

Blinking the spots out of my eyes, I scooted backwards on the rough stones, carefully watching Walker and fighting down the curl of terror that was threatening to overwhelm my mind. _Why's he so mad?_ His hand drifted down to the box on his belt and I tensed. If he pushed the button to shock me, I'd have to 'fake' it – and I had no doubts that my acting abilities would not impress him.

Instead, his hand was shoved into his pocket, the small jewel coming out, held tightly in his fingers. "_This…_" he seethed, almost growling.

I licked my lips and waited when Walker trailed off, closed his eyes, and almost seemed to be vibrating in fury. Not a good time to say something.

"This," he finally continued, "is _not_ my key." There was another brilliant flare of light as Walker completely destroyed the jewel that had been found on the rat's spear. "_Where_ is my _key?!_"

I couldn't do anything but shake my head, mouth working soundlessly. I couldn't tell him where it was.

Walker snarled – almost a scream – and stalked into my cell. His boots echoed as he stormed up to me, grabbed my arm painfully, and levered me to my feet and out through my door. Horror flickered through me, momentarily convinced that Walker was going to drag me to my parents' door and demand I kill them, but Walker pulled me past, my feet barely getting purchase on the ground.

"You will fight," he hissed finally, half-carrying half-dragging me down the endless, dark corridors of the Pits. "You will _lose_ this time, Punk." He glared down at me, his eyes glowing like eerie supernovas in the shadowed darkness. The ghost lights overhead were scattering as he made his way down the hallway, essentially creating a blob of darkness that moved with us. "If you _win_, I will _destroy_ your parents and then go find anyone you ever considered to be a friend and I will kill them as well."

My stomach dropped out from underneath me, a thick load of bile rising in my throat. It wasn't in response to the part about losing a fight, but the fact that it was _now_ and not when Former had planned it… it caused a flash of pure dread to slam into me. Would the rebellion realize what was going on? Would they have time to free everyone? I wouldn't be much of a distraction if I died…

"Understood?" he snapped, giving my whole body a fierce shake.

I nodded painfully. It took a few more doors, but I managed to swallow the choking block in my throat and rasp out, "What will happen to my parents?"

Walker merely snarled in response and I dropped my head, still keeping one eye on Walker's hands. He couldn't push that button to activate my collar.

Finally jerking me to a stop, he threw open the doors to the office that previously belonged to Former and tossed me in. I tumbled to the hard ground, my body aching from the rough treatment, but almost instantly scrambled back to my feet. Walker didn't hang around; he had twirled on his heel and slammed the door shut with a loud _bang _almost before I managed to get my feet under me.

"Early," a voice grunted and I flipped around, my heart racing until I realized the speaker was Joe – Former's replacement.

My gaze flickered around the room, noted that it was empty, and settled back on Joe's face. "Sorry. Walker kind of dragged me here."

He snorted and stared down at his book, running a hand through his hair. "Great," he murmured darkly, scratching at things in his book with his pen. Then he shook his head and looked up at me with a blank expression. "Wait."

"Wait? Wait for what?" Now that my heart was slowing back down to a normal speed, the horror of the situation was coming back in full-force. Was I ruining everyone's plans _again_?

A glimmer of a sad smile drifted onto his face. "Specter."

That literally rocked me back on my heels. "I'm still going to fight Specter?"

"Yup." He nodded slowly and the solid mass that was my stomach started to unclench and loosen. But why wouldn't I fight whoever had been on the list next? Why was I still going to fight… things clicked into place with an almost audible snap. _Joe's human – of course he's part of the rebellion!_

"And…" I trailed off, not knowing what to say. If I were wrong – which I had been before – I couldn't give away Former's plans.

We waited in quiet silence, staring at each other. Joe occasionally looked down at his book and scribbled in it with his pen before looking back up. His eyes were always empty and blank as they studied me.

When the door opened again, we both jumped. "Other room's full," a guard said sourly as a figure walked through the door. It was the girl I'd seen before – silver hair pulled back in a ponytail, sharp green eyes, and a murderous smile on her face. She walked in a few feet and waited, her hands behind her back, her eyes fixing on me as her smile grew.

"Specter," Joe said. Then he pointed towards the door that led out into the arena and muttered, "Go."

The ghost-girl brushed past me, moving her body with the flowing grace of a fighter. I waited a beat before turning to follow her. This was my fight… my _last_ fight.

"Phantom."

I turned around and looked up at Joe as he raised a hand and held it out. I walked forwards a few feet, grasped it, and he shook my hand. His eyes, which were normally so blank and emotionless, were filled with hope and belief. His fingers clenched painfully around mine. "'Luck," he whispered, then let go.

"Thanks," I said softly. "You too."

And then the fight was on.

* * *

Back in an empty cell that Danny would never return to, there was already movement. A certain rat – who wasn't really a rat – crawled through the tiny portal in the corner of the cell, dragging a few pieces of paper behind him. L'Jai, the sole 'survivor' of the catastrophe of Atlantis, walked up to Danny's notebook and started flipping through the pages, reading bits and pieces. Eventually he paused and inserted one of his pages into the notebook before going back to skimming through Danny's story.

"He really is a better writer than he gives himself credit for," the rat muttered, still annoyed at Danny for destroying a plan that had been in the works for a century.

But… he could admit that perhaps he'd gone a bit too far. Dragging the young half-ghost into the Pits, drugging him to create the unique hybrid form, keeping the plan from him… He could see how Danny had gotten fed up with him.

Next time he'd pick someone with less backbone… or drug them into not caring.

A flicker of light swirled down around him and L'Jai tensed. A lone ghost light curled and danced around the rat's small form. "Leave me alone." He shuddered when the strange hot-cold energy of the ghost light touched his fur. "I don't _have_ the key. I can't do anything."

Almost impossibly, the ghost light stopped its dancing. It hovered, perfectly still, in front of the rat's face. Green glowed straight into the rat's blue eyes, flaring and flickering like a tiny fire.

"I'm not the master of the Pits anymore," L'Jai grumbled, dropping his head down onto his paws with a sigh, knowing he'd be unable to get out of this conversation. "I've told you that a dozen times. I can't do anything until I get my key back."

The ghost light flared brilliantly.

The rat's eyes narrowed angrily. "The souls I sent out to the Fenton's house all made it back safely. Don't you dare go accusing me of not caring – I remember the promise I made."

Again, the ghost light blazed and flickered.

"And you can knock it off with the 'I told you so's. I'm well aware that my plan blew up in my face, just like you said it would. It's partly your fault, you know." L'Jai blinked when the light flashed impossibly bright, but then continued. "Yes, yes it is. You showed him images of his family – I know you did. You used the ectoluminum in his blood to turn his whole body into a receptor. If you hadn't done that, he would have happily gone along with my plan and _you_ would be two steps closer to being free, now wouldn't you?"

The ghost light glimmered softly for a moment, seeming to digest that.

"Now leave me alone. I've got to make a _new_ plan." L'Jai turned around to head back through the portal, but the ghost light suddenly shot around in front of him and flared brightly. For a moment, L'Jai stood still, digesting what the ghost light had told him, but then a smile crept onto his face.

"Maybe all is not lost…"

Twenty seconds later, the small blue-black rat was racing down the dark corridors in the bowels the Pits, uncaring about who he was passing. Behind him, the tiny ghost light fell back under the compulsion to dance, twirling back up towards the ceiling before slipping out through the door. As it danced down the hallway, it collected dozens of ghost lights behind it, a large procession that looked a lot like a moving blob of fire.

* * *

I ignored the guards as they escorted me into the arena on Specter's heels. Instead, my gaze was up and swinging over the seats of the Pits. The glow of hundreds of guards was unmistakable and I could see more and more guards filing through the doors to find seats. No doubt they had heard that I was supposed to 'lose' my fight and wanted to be here to see it. Walker was up in his special box, staring at me with his raisin-like eyes, presiding over the fight to the death like a Roman emperor.

The lack of green in the audience both scared me and gave me hope. The rebels had to have heard about the change in plans… they wouldn't be _here_ if they were working on getting the fighters out. But I didn't know for sure. Perhaps they were still hiding someplace… or couldn't get into the Pits at all. There were no guarantees that this plan would work.

I would do my best, however, to keep the guards and Walker busy for as long as I could. Drag out the fight and not go down without making a huge spectacle.

Add that to the fact that I wasn't _planning_ on 'going down' and I was going to give the guards more than enough reason to watch me and not notice the people sneaking out from under their noses.

I reached my spot, coming to a relaxed stop, my arms dangling loosely by my sides. I was, in some crazy way, looking _forwards_ to this fight. My heart was already beating faster, my muscles tensing, my stomach clenching, an interesting rush of adrenaline scorching through my veins. This fight wouldn't be something easy. This would test my limits.

Specter reached her spot, twirling around to wait, mirroring me on the other side of the arena. She looked, at first glance, just like Dani – but closer inspection showed that they were nothing alike. Her chin was tilted up arrogantly, her body bouncing on her toes, her messy white hair falling out of its pony tail and into her green eyes. The desire to fight, to kill, to mindlessly murder was written onto every one of her features, glittered in her malevolent eyes, sparkled in her ruthless smile, and twirled around her in an almost visible aura of danger.

"Hello, Phantom," she said softly, a grin on her face, a mocking bow sketched into the air. "We meet at last."

The guards snapped on the shield over our heads with an audible _zing_ of energy and I returned her bow. _I might as well make as large a production out of this as I can_. "Hello, Specter."

She surprised me by laughing and spreading her arms, ghostly blades forming at her fingers. She curled her hands around the newly-formed daggers and crossed them in front of her chest like an entombed Egyptian king. "Shall we?"

I shrugged as cold trickled down my arms and the star-silver blades formed, arching over my hands. I flicked them through the air, watching the gentle light from the shield sparkle on their smooth surfaces. "Well, it's what they're here to see, I guess; don't want to disappoint the blood-hungry demons."

With a movement so fast I could barely follow, she suddenly attacked low, slicing towards my feet. I slammed out with one blade, knocking her first attack out of the way, not noticing the second dagger stabbing towards my stomach. Out of options and a split-second from being eviscerated on the first attack, I simply kicked out with a foot and knocked her to the ground. Her dagger sliced through my shirt and some skin, but not deep enough to really cause any damage.

She slipped back to her feet, daggers growing into longer rapiers. "You really are as good as rumor said," she whispered with a smile. "That would have killed most other fighters. But I _did _tag you."

I moved backwards a few feet, settling into a loose crouch with my blades up and ready to block her. The slice on my stomach was burning and I could feel cold blood oozing from the shallow cut. "Do it again, I dare you," I muttered.

"Oh, I intend to," she cooed. "I don't believe that today will be the end of things for me."

I waited just a moment longer, then attacked her, trying to use my longer reach to my advantage. She blocked everything I could throw at her, slice after chop after slice, before ducking and slipping backwards out of the way. I was stronger, but she was incredibly fast.

Around us, the crowd full of prison guards was cheering and jumping and shouting. Many of them had taken to the air, their arms raised as they yelled and screamed for their favorite. From what I could hear, a good number of them were betting on me _winning_ despite what Walker had decreed would be the result of the fight.

I wasn't going to be able to touch Specter, not with how fast she was. I paced in a semi-circle around her between exchanges of attacks, studying her, trying to come up with a new plan. The blades sparkled on my arms as I charged them, grinning when the greenish energy cast fire-like images on the walls around us. If I couldn't beat her in a 'normal' fight, I'd have to take it to a new level.

The blades had a powerful store of energy – more than I'd ever admitted to the rat. The blast that had destroyed the one arena might have been a one-time thing, but I could definitely use the power that was still in them to do some horrible damage.

Specter narrowed her eyes suspiciously and fell into a deeper crouch, her ghostly rapiers ready and waiting to block any physical attack I could throw at her.

I wasn't planning a physical attack. I crouched, mirroring her, and touched one of the blades to the ground. Energy swirled around me as I focused it, giving it a destination and a job to do. Pure green fire cascade out of the blade, my own energy magnified by the power of the blades, and danced along the sandy ground like lightning. It zapped towards Specter, but she took to the air before it could reach her.

As she hovered, the energy from my attack collected in her shadow and small flares of emerald lightning curled up towards Specter's suspended form. I watched it, expecting it to dissipate, but the energy just sat there, waiting, ready for her to land.

"Interesting," Specter whispered, then looked up at me with a grin. "But watch this." She took one of her rapiers, flipped it through the air before catching it in reverse, and touched one end to the energy coiling under her. It flared and swirled dangerously for a moment before exploding with a loud crackling sound.

My eyes widened, barely catching sight of the ball of energy zapping back towards me before I threw myself into the air as well. The energy curled under me for a few moments before racing back to Specter's shadow. For a long few heartbeats, we both watched the energy zip back and forth like some sort of backwards game of Keep-Away, the ball of power obviously waiting for someone to land.

"Now it's an aerial battle," Specter said pleasantly. "Hope you don't mind."

I shook my head, annoyed at how my plan had backfired. Throwing myself towards her, I sliced out sideways, forcing her to back up, using my longer reach and stronger arms in an attempt to make her drop lower in the air. She bobbed and weaved, blocking every one with simple movements of her arms, but kept herself a safe distance from the energy crackling on the sandy floor.

I suddenly cut upwards and managed to knock both of her swords out of the way, reversing the direction of the blade and slicing towards her head. She was forced to duck, her hair taking the sharp edge of my blade, and her rapier stabbed out. I bit back a yelp as it caught the side of my foot. With an unimaginably quick movement, she straightened, standing inside my reach, the rapier in her hand shrinking to a small knife, and she pressed it to my throat. "That's two for me," she whispered happily.

Two feet came up, pushed against my chest like a springboard, and Specter drifted away from me, her small knife growing back into a longer sword. I just stared at her while cool blood dripped out of my foot. _She's playing a game_. "Didn't your mother ever tell you not to play with your food?" I murmured.

She, insanely, giggled. "While you _do_ look delicious, Phantom, I highly doubt I'll get to eat you when this is all said and done." Her focus was drawn towards my feet and she pointed with one of her knives. "Interesting little attack you made."

I glanced down as well, watching the fizzling ball of energy waiting in my shadow. Every time a drop of my blood dripped through the air, the emerald sphere curled around the blood, seeming to eat it. "Ew."

"Perhaps," she said vaguely, then attacked without another word. Rapier-like blades sliced at me from every direction. I used the blades to deflect some of them and was forced to resort to a more energy-draining ghost shield to block the rest, constantly retreating backwards. Specter continued to pepper my shield with attacks and I continued to back up, unaware of how close I'd come to the edge of the arena until my back slammed into a wall.

_This is not good…_ I stared at Specter through my flickering and dying ghost shield. Up against the wall, I had no room to move – nowhere to go. The smile on her face had gone from the playful one she'd been wearing when she 'tagged' me earlier to one that glowed with nothing but murderous wrath. I had no doubt in my mind that she was going to kill me with her next attack.

I was still trying to figure out what to do when a huge mass of blue and green fire suddenly burst into the pit and swirled around Specter. I caught a glimpse of her hand, flailing around in the mass of light and energy, and kicked out. My foot slammed into Specter's stomach and sent her reeling, throwing her half-way across the arena. Letting my own shield die and hovering in the air, I watched the huge light wearily, trying to decide if it was going to attack _me_ next.

The incredible collection of small bits of light disintegrated into hundreds of small ghost lights that danced in every direction, scattering around the Pit. One of the green lights hovered next to me for a moment longer than the other. _Young oyster, now is your chance to be the walrus._

I didn't think about it, I didn't question it, I just rolled with it. Flinging myself forwards while Specter was still rubbing at her eyes, obviously blinded by the sudden assault of light, I sliced at her chest.

_She blocked it_. Her eyes closed, tears of pain running down her cheeks, and she still blocked my blade, using my own momentum to send me spinning past her. Almost in slow motion, I watched her other blade slip around her body and come down, aimed perfectly for my neck. I didn't even have a chance to close my eyes before the sharp edge slammed into me.

Pain exploded in my mind.

But, somehow, I wasn't dead. I hovered below her, my feet barely above the snapping power of the ball of energy, and tried to get my mind back in order. My hand came up of its own accord, shaking horribly, convinced that I'd feel a soon-to-be-fatal cut in my neck. Blood would cover my fingers and these few moments would be my last.

Instead, all I felt was a huge slice in the collar around my neck. There was a small bit of blood… but Walker's collar had taken the brunt of the attack. Only a small bit of leather still held it in place around my neck. _I never thought I'd be thankful for this horrible thing._

Finally, I remembered to look up. Specter was still blinking rapidly, looking down at me. Her hair was a wild mess, singed and knotted, and her eyes were glowing furiously. "You're still alive?" she said darkly. "Congratulations. But it won't last long." The rapier in her hand flashed in the light, then she threw it at me.

My arms came up and I flickered intangible, feeling the rapier pass right through me. _Why the Hell didn't I do that earlier?_ I screamed in my own mind as Specter twirled down through the air at me. She sliced towards my head but I deflected it, dodging away from her second attack. She followed my backing up, turning it into full-fledged flight. The chase was on.

I raced around the small perimeter of the arena, Specter close on my heels. Every time she'd get close enough to swing her rapier at my feet, I'd twist around and blast her with a burst of ectoplasm, forcing her to back away. After just a few moments she apparently lost patience with the tactic and dropped her rapier, her hands glowing with emerald energy, starting to blast back at me.

Spinning and twisting left and right to avoid getting hit, we dashed around the small Pit. Still-smoldering burn marks started to cover the walls, the ghost shield overhead sparkling with the excess energy it was being forced to absorb. The crowd screamed with delight every time a blast nearly hit either one of us, growing into a raucous mob that was flooded into the air above the ghost shield.

A few blasts in quick succession sent me diving perilously close to the shield as I glanced back at the furious ghost behind me. _This had gone on long enough. I need to do something and get out of this before she kills me._ I had no doubt that she would be able to… if she ever managed to get a grip on me again.

I spun, suddenly changing directions. With the speed she was going in one direction and how fast I was headed in the other, I passed over her before she had time to react. Her eyes followed my move with surprise, widening when my hands clamped around her ankles. I jerked her to a complete stop, ignoring the scream of pain in my shoulders, and started to spin. Twirling around like a centrifuge, she snarled angrily and struggled, trying to kick at my hands. When I finally lost my grip, she went flying, slamming painfully hard into a wall.

The masses of ghost lights suddenly converged again, swarming around her head. She screamed in frustration, blasting one of the lights into motes of dust.

I kicked out, catching her shoulder and sending her skidding along the wall. When she came to a stop, she crouched on the wall, new ghostly rapiers appearing in her hands. "I will kill you," she hissed, her eyes a soulless green, the pupils no longer able to be seen. She kicked off and sliced at me with both of the rapiers.

It was a sloppy attack – I dodged it easily, twisted around, and planted a double-fisted hit between her shoulder blades as she passed by. With a strangled scream, she dropped through the air.

We weren't nearly high enough anymore. Before she had time to recover, her body hit the ground. The zapping energy, still waiting to attack, pounced. Her small form was almost instantly covered in emerald flares of light, highlighting the way she convulsed and writhed on the ground.

I landed a distance away from her, my breath rasping in my throat, my legs feeling like jelly. I was a _lot_ more tired from the fight than I'd expected – I wouldn't be able to last much longer in this fight. Dragging my eyes away from the shuddering form of my opponent, I focused on what I was going to do next.

I needed to get past the ghost shield and get free of this damned place.

Taking a deep breath, I crouched low to the ground, coiling my strength, willing myself to have the energy to do this. I suddenly pushed myself off the ground, flying head-first for the center of Walker's shield, throwing open the throttle and going as fast as I could.

I had to be going fast for this to work. I would only be able to hold the transformation back to human for a moment. In that hairs-breadth of time, I would need to get completely through the ghost shield. If I was going too slow, I could be trapped half-way. I'd lose my legs… or worse.

Reaching my top speed in just a few body lengths, I barely had time to blink before the shield was right _there_. I triggered the transformation, squeezing my eyes shut and praying.

If my timing was even slightly off, I would slam into the shield at over two hundred miles an hour and break my neck… or get trapped in the shield. If my timing was perfect and I was _really_ lucky, I would reach the other side of the shield before I slipped back into my hybrid form.

Then I'd only have the entirety of Walker's forces and Walker himself in the way.

But, any way this worked out – make it through the shield or not – I figured the fight was definitely over.

…remember way back in the first chapter when I told you my entries stop at the end of a fight?


	23. Page 18

Pain. Aching, throbbing pain that zipped and sputtered through my bones and down my veins.

It was also incredibly dark, but that probably had more to do with the fact that I didn't have any desire to open my eyes than any true lack of light – I wasn't sure I wanted to know for sure if I had made it through the ghost shield or not. I twitched my fingers, making sure that I still had fingers to move. Then I curled my toes, feeling the pins-and-needles tingle the shield had left in them.

Based on what I could figure out, my jump's timing had to be classified as incredibly good. I still had all my body parts and wasn't dead. But it wasn't perfect. The ghost shield had caught me mid-transformation and had given me a rather nasty shock as I passed through it.

_Passed through_.

One eye flickered open to check my thought that I had, indeed, made it through Walker's shield. The flickering green ghost shield lay below me like some kind of science fiction field of grass, surrounded on all sides by the red, blue, and green eyes of Walker's guards. My other eye opened, staring at them as they stared back at me in surprise. Nobody had moved yet.

_Why aren't I falling? _My shoulder gave a sharp twinge just as I realized that I wasn't even attempting to fly. My heart stopped dead when my brain finally noticed that one of my arms was being held awkwardly over my head, my wrist clamped in a tight grip. _Walker_!

My body jerked a little when I flinched and I quickly craned my neck around to find out who was holding me in the air. Tilting my head awkwardly, I was met with a very familiar sight: the bottom of a red jet sled, a certain red-garbed human perched on top. My heart restarted and I let out a chuckle. "Hi."

"You weren't going to leave me out of this, were you?" she asked pleasantly, but there was a tremor in her voice and sharp daggers of fear leaking out of her. She was slowly scanning the masses of ghosts surrounding where we were floating, not paying much attention to me.

"Not if you're going to volunteer like this," I muttered as I pushed myself up into the air and took my weight off Valerie's arm. It wasn't a huge surprise to see Valerie – the ghost lights had already shown me the fact that she had snuck _back_ into the Pits. When I was floating even with her, she let go. "But this isn't going to fun, Val."

"Figured that," she whispered, her voice barely audible through the hunter's mask.

I glanced around the crowded arena. The guards still hadn't moved – they seemed to content to just stare in confusion for the moment – and Walker's special box seat was empty. "Where's Walker?"

"He might be dealing with a cherry bomb or two… or two hundred… and some leftover fireworks… and maybe a ghost-proof boom box…"

I grinned at that.

"You escaped a little early." Valerie reached into her pocket and tossed me a small object. I caught it without a second thought, blinking down at the small crystal. "Yours?" she asked.

Surprised, I nodded and looked up at her. I hadn't been expecting to get it back and I had no idea what to do with it. For a moment, I stared into the visor of her mask, momentarily transfixed by my own reflection glistening in the glass. My odd green-blue eyes were simmering even in the relatively bright light of the Pits. Shaking myself out of my daze, I stuffed the crystal – the key – Valerie had given me into my pocket and gestured towards the main doors. "Shall we?"

Our movement towards the door seemed to be what finally shook the guards out of their stunned silence. The mob of ghosts yelled and screamed, their voices raised in an impossibly loud roar that seemed to shake the entire arena. Many of the ghosts threw themselves into the air, batons raised, eyes glowing, hands reaching for the devices that would send electrical shocks through me via the collar on my neck.

But there would be no running from them, no escape from their wrath, no alternate plans. There was only one way out of this arena: straight through.

The smile on my face turned cold as we raced towards the oncoming ghosts, energy pulsing into life around me. I could see their fingers pressing against buttons that should have activated my collar. I could watch the astonishment blossom on their faces when nothing happened. One heartbeat, two, and we were in the middle of them.

Ghosts flickered by on all sides of me, many of them reacting too slowly to do anything but watch as we passed them by. Escape was the goal, not stopping and fighting. I dodged around a guard that planted himself in my way as my blades bloomed from my arms, one of the star-silver razor edges dancing up to slice through an errant guard's arm like a hot knife through ice cream cake. Twirling closer to Valerie, I picked off a guard that had been too close to her back and watched her clear a path with her weapons.

I slipped sideways through the air and removed the head of a guard that had been trying to sneak up on me before putting on a burst of speed to pull ahead of the red huntress. Before us, the mob of guards was so thick that I couldn't see through to the doorway. I didn't want her wasting her suit's limited energy supplies – I'd blaze the trail.

Power jumped to my fingers before arcing back to the shimmer along the length of my twin blades. The ectoluminum collected the energy and enhanced it, setting it humming with potential. I slashed down with my arm and released the energy. It flowed through the air in a visible wash of emerald power, followed a split-second later by the energy from the second blade.

Formed and given a purpose by my thoughts, the two gashes of light in the air sped away from me and, at a point a few body lengths in front of me, the two waves of power met, mingled… and exploded. I raised my hand and squinted against the bright light. Many of the guards that had been in the way weren't so lucky – pieces of the rapidly evaporating guards were raining down on the ghost shield.

For a moment, I had the morose question in my mind of how many new ghost lights I had just created, but I tossed it away. Now was not the time to think about it.

The guards had scattered; we could see how close we were to the door. I glanced over my shoulder at Valerie. She was still diving towards the door, an ectorifle in her hand, firing at any guard bold enough to get within her sights. Looking back, I caught sight of…

I almost stopped in midair, surprised. I'd expected to see rows and rows of empty seats, but the stands around the arena were still filled with hundreds of ghosts. More than half of the guards hadn't attacked us; they were just sitting there, staring up at us, confused looks on their faces. _But why are they…_

Two arms suddenly snaked around my chest and pinned my arms to my sides, tossing the half-question from my head. "Hey!" I yelped as the arms tightened painfully, struggling and kicking. Energy exploded inside of me and scorched through my body, causing the guard who had grabbed me to scream in pain and let go. I twirled around, one arm coming up, and removed the ghost's head from his shoulders.

I twisted around to head back towards the door when suddenly a massive blast of energy sizzled past me, inches from my ear. I glanced over my shoulder at a scream that came from right behind me; a guard who had been sneaking up on me was now falling through the air, curled up in a little ball. My head jerked around to find out who had saved me.

A green cloaked figure was standing at the door, an incredibly large ectorifle in its hands. Two more figures wrapped in similar green – human, I knew that instantly by the emotions they were giving off – were stepping out of the door, all three of them aiming weapons towards the guards and firing.

With a grin, I dove towards them, quickly catching up with Valerie. "Let's get out of here," I yelled to her over the screams of the guards getting shot.

She didn't bother to answer – she simply continued to drop through the air. Now that we didn't have to fight through all of the guards, it only took a matter of seconds before we reached the doorway. I dropped to the ground next to the three rebels, panting a little, incredibly happy to hear the sharp whine of the ectoguns.

"Whelp," the tallest of them greeted, mechanical green eyes drifting over towards me.

"You're still insulting me even when you're saving me?" I muttered, already heading towards the door.

The glowing eyes narrowed under the dark recesses of the hood as he turned to follow me. "It's _because_ I had to save you that I'm insulting you, _whelp_."

I glanced over my shoulder. A mass of guards were diving towards us, still getting picked off by the ectoguns of the rebels – although it seemed like a lot of the guards were lagging behind and choosing to just float and watch us leave. "Run!" Valerie demanded, pushing against me.

I nodded, totally in agreement. I picked up my pace, but I hadn't gotten more than two or three steps when the lights went out. For a few moments the ghost shield glowed brightly, illuminating the entire place. When that finally flickered out of existence, the large room was thrown into darkness. Obviously startled and confused by the turn of events, the guards' yells fell silent.

Somewhere below us, no longer trapped in her Pit, Specter started to laugh, her dangerous chuckle echoing around the almost-silent arena.

* * *

A large, warm hand pushed against my shoulder, shoving me towards the hallways that were still lit by the dancing ghost lights. "Move, Danny," a familiar voice whispered in my ear and I finally realized that I had stopped moving. My feet started again, heading towards the corridors, as the voice continued. "The rebels took out Walker's generator."

"Why'd they aim for that?" I slipped through the arched door and headed down the hallway at nearly a run. The guards would figure out to come after us soon.

"To take down the shield and get you out."

"I thought they were leaving me to die," I muttered, twisting around to look at the person who was talking to me. The voice was achingly familiar. I caught a glimpse of who it was, hood pushed back as he ran, and tripped over my own feet.

Dad chuckled softly as he slowed to a stop, grabbing my arm before I could hit the ground and levering me back onto my feet. "Mads and I disagreed. And Skulker was nice enough to lend us a few of his ectoguns to disagree with."

A huge flash of light from the arena we'd just left burst like a firework, the light that streamed down the hallway eerily bright. A haunting girl's voice – Specter's – screamed, "_Phantom!"_

Skulker, who had passed me at some point and was now ahead of me, raised his arm and a brilliant green bolt of energy whistled past my head. A few moments later, there was the sound of one of Walker's guards screaming. The guards had found the entrance to the hallways. "Touchy human reunion later," Skulker grumbled as he recharged his weapon, "keep moving."

Valerie pushed past my dad and I on foot, the hallway too small for her to use her jetsled, raising her arm to fire into the crowd of approaching guards. "Again… run," she snapped. The two cubes being directed by her hand sent reddish blasts of energy zipping down the hallway.

I grabbed my dad's arm and yanked on it, starting to drag him along. I had no desire to be recaptured by the guards. He fell into step next to me after just a few paces. The third figure in green dropped back from her place in the lead and smiled at me, reaching out the grab my hand. Mom's eyes widened suddenly and I ducked a split-second before a glob of green ectoplasm from one of the guards' batons blasted overhead.

Even as I was straightening, I pulled my hand away from my mother's and pointed it at the guards following us, joining Val's and Skulker's attempts to keep the guards away from us. Energy swirled and cascaded around me for a moment, then I focused it. It collected around my outstretched hand for a fraction of a moment before rocketing off towards its target. That one blast was soon followed by a dozen more.

The guards on our tail proved to be nothing more than a way to keep us occupied while another group of guards got in front of us and blocked off our advance. I was too busy blasting into the guards behind us to notice the guards infront of us; the first time I realized they were there was when my mother gasped, a startled yelp of pain slipping from her lips.

I twirled around, glaring at the guard who had grabbed her hand and twisted her arm behind her back. I didn't even bother with the unspoken demand to let her go; my blades slashed into existence a heartbeat before I sliced the idiot in half.

Steadfastly ignoring the look on my mother's face, knowing that she'd just seen me kill someone for the first time, I flipped around to glare at the dozens of guards arranged in front of us, blocking our way out. I was finished with this – no more games, no more playing, no more mercy. I wanted _out_ of the Pits and I was going to _get_ out and I was going to take my parents with me. I took a few steps forwards to stand in between my parents and the guards blocking our way out.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Valerie and Skulker point their guns backwards, holding off the guards that had stumbled to a halt behind us. Dad pointed his ectogun forwards, the smaller weapon whining painfully as it charged. We were surrounded. "Move," I demanded.

"No," one of the guards said, raising his baton to point at me with one arm, the other reaching down to press the button on the box that would have activated the shock collar on my neck. I watched him push the button, tensing even though I knew nothing would happen.

As shock and disbelief colored the guard's face, I reached up and grabbed the broken collar. Specter's slice had almost cut all the way through it – one hard yank was all it took to pull it the rest of the way off. I tossed it onto the ground and smiled. The guards flinched. Part of me cheered at that – if they were afraid of me and it would be lots easier to get out – and part of me crumbled at the fact that my smile was, no doubt, reminiscent of a certain lost future. After all of my promises, I really _was _turning into that monster. I shook my head to clear the thought from my mind; now was not the time. "Move or be moved," I snapped.

There were a few moments of silence as I stared down the guards, the quiet broken only by a few screams in the background as Specter disemboweled anyone foolish enough to get in her path. Walker's key was burning in my pocket and I could see the uncertainty in the guards' eyes. Since I now had the key, _I_ was the one who held sway in the Pits. I was its master, not Walker. Any sort of mental bond Walker held over his guards was broken. The only thing holding them in place was their fear of him.

I sighed in my head as the next thought germinated. It was hard to imagine _me_, peaceful clumsy Danny Fenton, thinking such a thing. But there it was anyways.

_I need to show them who to really fear._

Annoyed and frustrated at the circumstances I'd been put in, angry at the thoughts running through my own head, and terrified that my parents would be killed after all that I'd been through, I couldn't hold back the overly-strong emotions my ghost side was throwing at me any longer. They ripped through anything I used to try to block them, dancing and curling upwards inside of me as rage colored my vision. "Fine," I whispered, my voice more of a snarl than actual words.

Energy curled around the blade that I had raised, dancing an emerald-crimson at the fury flowing through my body. As power built up into a visible aura of arching energy, feeding off the energy locked into the ancient blade, about half the guards broke and disappeared down the dark hallway. A small tendril of happiness slipped into me at that; the knowledge of how much they feared me sickeningly sweet. I waited a beat, then released all the pent-up power. The blast raced away from me, slammed into the lead guard, and exploded in a ball of brilliant light.

I raised a ghost shield without a second thought, feeling the impacts of the decimated pieces of hall, ceiling, floor, and guard as the bits slammed into the shield. When the dust settled, there was a huge hole in the floor, no sign of the guards that hadn't chosen to move fast enough. I stared at the destruction for a moment, feeling nothing. How many ghosts had I just killed?

I found, rather depressingly, that I just didn't care anymore.

"Come on," I muttered, grabbing my parent's hands, unable to look at them. I knew that they were seeing me for who I _really_ was for the first time… a monster, a killer, a _thing_ who could destroy and not care… I could already feel the surprise and the fear coming from them, I didn't need to see it too.

Shaking the thought out of my head, I pulled them towards the crater and quickly flew them over. Skulker was a split-second behind me, Valerie carried in his arms.

"The blast scared most of them away," Skulker said, a note of commendation in his voice. He dropped Valerie once he'd reached the other side and walked past me, Vlaerie right on his heels. "This way," he commanded.

Still unable to look at my parents, I let them pass me and ended up in the rear. My mother kept glancing back at me, but every time she'd look at me, I'd look away. I didn't want to know what was going through her mind; she was probably wondering what kind of creature she'd come all this way to save.

When her head turned again, I looked down one of the corridors branching off from this one. My feet slammed to a stop when I saw, illuminated by the flickering green and blue ghost lights, a familiar white, boney warden. "Walker," I whispered.

The ghost was singed and seemed to be smoldering faintly, his clothes splattered in a variety of colors of paint. He was glaring down at a guard – he had no idea I was there.

He was defenseless.

Pure, raw fury sparkled around me and coiled into my mind. I wanted to _destroy_ Walker. After all he'd put me and my family and my friends through this past however-long-it-had-been, he deserved nothing less than to be totally and completely obliterated from the Ghost Zone. Ever since I'd first heard about the rat's stupid plan, I'd wanted to get rid of Walker. Here was my chance.

Energy started to build around me, unconsciously called into existence by the anger fluttering inside of me. I wanted to kill him. I _needed_ to kill him.

I took a step forwards. _Am I finally going to get to do this_? My fingers curled into fists, my heart fluttering anxiously. Every fiber of my being wanted to get some sort of revenge for what I'd been through. The cosmic scales needed to be balanced.

I took another step. _This isn't murder – Walker's not innocent. _I could so _easily_ justify his death in my mind. _Thousands of his victims are screaming for this to happen._

"Danny?"

At the sound of my mother's voice, my feet hesitated. I didn't look away from Walker. All I wanted to do was destroy him. _It won't take long, and after I kill him I'll catch up to my parents_.

Surely one more death on my hands wouldn't make or break anything by this point.

"_DANNY!"_

At the sound of fear in her voice, I glanced over my shoulder, my breath catching in my throat. "Mom?" I mouthed, taking a small step backwards. I couldn't see her anymore; I'd made it too far down the side corridor.

Looking back towards Walker, the hallway was empty. My heart fell still and I just stared at the deserted hallway. I'd lost my chance. Walker would live to see a few more minutes, at least.

Still buoyed by the rage that seeing Walker had sent boiling through me, I took a few more steps backwards and set off after my parents at a run. Skidding around a corner, I stumbled to a stop. My mom was struggling, a familiar set of green eyes and messy white hair holding her up in the air by one arm. "Mom!"

"Phantom," Specter said. "We need to finish our fight – you can't just leave like that."

"The fight's over," I snapped, the view of Mom being held like that only fueling the fury that was racing through me like a forest fire. Tiny tendrils of barely controlled fear were leaching into the air and my ghost side grabbed them and twirled them into my own power. "Let her go."

She looked straight into my eyes, her aura glowing dangerously as she shook my mother. Her lips moved, probably saying something along the lines of 'make me', but I was beyond hearing her. The world grew red.

I took three steps and sliced forwards with my blade. It followed my thoughts, growing longer and arching just a little to be right on target, but Specter was too quick. She let go of my mother and ducked to the side just in time to avoid losing her arm. Mom dropped heavily to the ground, one of her legs buckling under her with a sickening cracking sound, but I didn't have time to pay any attention to her.

Specter dropped to the ground and formed two rapier-like swords in her hands. She took a step towards me, a grin on her face. One of her rapiers swept down through the air – I threw my own blade upwards to block it, but she had other plans. She reversed it at the last second, throwing me off balance, and drove her other rapier towards my unprotected side. It dug into my skin even as I was throwing myself backwards, tearing a shallow path down my side.

Swallowing down whatever cry of pain had tried to leave my lips, I settled my feet on the ground just long enough to catch my balance and dove towards her. She sidestepped my attack and drove a knee into my side, forcing my breath out of my lungs and making me fall to the ground.

"Danny!" I heard my mother gasp. "_JACK!"_

I made it to my hands and feet, struggling to get some air in my lungs, as the question of where Skulker, Valerie, and my dad were hiding finally crept into my head. Specter's feet walked into my line of sight and I looked up into her grinning face, one of her rapiers held high over her head.

I could hear the _sound_ of ectoweapons being fired, but I couldn't see any being shot towards Specter. _Move. _I tensed my arms and legs, ready to throw myself to the side even if I couldn't get a breath of air into my lungs, but Specter wasn't waiting any longer. She wanted me dead; I could see it in her glowing eyes.

Her arm moved almost in slowly motion, dropping towards me.

Suddenly a blur of blue and dirty-white slammed into Specter, throwing her across the hallway and knocking the short swords from her hands. Specter pushed herself smoothly to her feet almost instantly, the ghost that had bowled into her stumbling upwards much more slowly. "He's mine," he snapped angrily, his blue eyes flaring brightly.

Specter flicked her hair out of her eyes and glared at him, obviously annoyed at the interruption. "I'm fighting Phantom, not you. Now get out of my way… whoever you are."

The teenage ghost puffed out his chest, his odd-looking off-white clothes shimmering in the blue-green light. "I am L'Tradeshijai, son of M'Trakamadeshi." I pushed myself upwards a little, trying to remember where I'd heard that name before. It sounded familiar.

"Great," Specter muttered, then seemed to lose interest in him when she focused her emerald eyes back on me, ignoring the newest ghost. She walked towards me as I finally got back onto my feet, my side still aching painfully from where she'd kneed me. New rapier-like swords ghosted into existence in her hands, glittering like death in the flickering ghost lights. "Now…"

"Wait!" The ghost boy grabbed her arm.

Specter whirled, one sword slashing at the ghost who had grabbed her. He didn't jump backwards fast enough; green ectoplasm seeped down his chest from the slice she'd inflicted on him. "Don't touch me," she snapped

"Wait," he said again, pushing a hand to his chest, his voice tinged loudly with pain, "all I want to do is ask a question. Then you can kill him."

I suddenly had it – it was the voice that tipped him off. My eyes narrowed a little as I gazed at the rat-turned-human. It made a certain sort of illogical sense. The rat had vanished on me, turned tail and ran, as soon as I lost Walker's key. Now that I had it back, he showed back up.

Specter pointed one of her short swords towards LJ. "I'm killing you next," she snapped, visibly irritated at the constant interruptions. She opened her mouth to say something more, but a brilliant stream of green energy slammed into her and sent her tumbling down the hallway.

"Don't touch my family," Dad demanded, pointing his ectogun down the hallway in the direction Specter had disappeared. He walked over to Mom, knelt down, and picked her up without another word.

Mom hissed in pain, her leg twisting awkwardly, obviously broken. I pushed past LJ impatiently, the blades disappearing from my arms as I slipped over to my parents. "Are you okay?"

Mom smiled at me, but her face was white from the pain she was in, her knuckles turning pale from the death grip she was developing in Dad's shirt.

"Keep moving," Valerie called from up ahead. "We can't hold off the ghosts forever, you know." Dad immediately turned and started to head up the hallway and around the corner.

With one last glance over my shoulder towards where Specter had vanished, I turned back to LJ. "You left me to die," I said sourly, turning on my heel and following my parents. I still hadn't managed to convince myself that I had done the right thing by giving Valerie the key and letting her live, I still wasn't sure if I was right or if the rat was right – but I still held a bit of righteous anger where he was concerned.

"You lost my key. You ruined a century's worth of planning for _one _measly human." The teenage ghost grabbed my shoulder and twisted me around. His sapphire eyes stared into mine. "I want my key, hybrid."

I glanced over my shoulder; I was _this_ close to being free. All I had to do was get through one more door and I'd be out of the Pits for good – and the rat wanted to sit here and debate keys. Frankly, I didn't care anymore. The rat could have his stupid Pits. Turning back to him, I dug into my pocket and grabbed the small crystal. "Fine, whatever."

I held it out and he reached for it, his eyes glittering, just as Specter reappeared. With a furious shriek of rage, she sliced out with one of her swords and removed LJ's head from his shoulders.

As the boy who was usually a rat tumbled to the ground, his body already starting to dissolve, I slammed outwards with the blade that had appeared on my arm before I even knew I was attacking. The star-silver metal slammed into Specter's chest, power swirled and expanded, and Specter exploded in a wash of freezing semi-solid ectoplasm.

It took less than a blink of an eye and I was alone in the hallway.

I took a deep breath, wiping some of Specter's ectoplasm off my face before it dripped into my eyes, trying to figure out what had just happened. I didn't have time to do that now; I'd have to think it through later. Blinking a few times, looking around the deserted hallway, I stuffed the crystal back into my pocket, never noticing when it slipped through a hole and dropped onto the floor, and started to race after my parents.

* * *

Danny Fenton, the young hybrid who dashed down the deserted hallways, had no idea what he'd just done – even if he had known, he probably wouldn't have cared all too much at the time.

But we cared.

Swirling and dancing through the hallways, we watched as humans and ghosts were smuggled out the Pits by hundreds of green-cloaked rebels. We watched as guards were taken by surprise and carefully silenced before they could sound the alarm. We raced through the hallways, following the familiar twists and turns, observing everything that was happening.

We saw everything that occurred in the Pits as it was happening, but most of our attention was on the boy who had just changed our destiny forever… despite the fact that he didn't even realize it. The destruction of Walker's Pits, the freedom of the trapped and the innocent, the death of the last of the Guardians of Atlantis, the taking of the crystal from the Pits – all brought about because of Danny. Had Danny not gotten captured, had Danny not been who he was, had Danny not chosen the follow the path he had followed, none of it would have happened.

One of us – a brilliant green ghost light – laughed delightedly at L'Jai's downfall, knowing that the last of the Guardians was finally gone. The ghost light fixed his attention on the crystal glittering on the hallway floor just beyond L'Jai's dissolving fingers, even as a simple green ghost light formed over L'Jai's body. "My heart," the first ghost light whispered, twirling down the hallway towards the key, brushing up against still-forming ghost light.

The two green lights watched silently as the last piece of the puzzle raced down the corridor and tripped over the remains of L'Jai's and Specter's bodies. The young human pushed himself to his feet, cursing, but hesitated when he saw a sparkle on the ground. Nimble fingers that were used to writing in books picked up the small crystal and studied it closely. This time, when the crystal was slipped into a pocket, it didn't fall out.

The crystal was nothing but the old ruler's heart, torn out by Walker years and years earlier, as a way for Walker to control the Pits. King Aldren, the last great king of Altantis, no longer wished his heart to be returned to him, but he still danced after it. Where his heart led, he would follow. When his heart left the Pits, his ancient home, he would finally be free.

And we, the original ghost lights that were the people of Atlantis, followed our King.

* * *

I slipped to a stop by the doors that led out of the Pits, staring into the green abyss of the Ghost Zone. My parents were already standing on the small spit of rock on the other side of the Pits' door, looking back at me, waiting, Valerie hovering on her jet sled beside them. Dad was settling Mom carefully on the sled. "Danny, come on!"

I took a small step forwards, out of the Pits.

_I was free._

My heart soared – there was no question that there was a smile on my face right at that moment. It didn't matter that Walker was still alive. It didn't matter what was still standing in my way. _I was free._

Ghosts in green cloaks pushed past me and scattered into the Ghost Zone, one of them carrying a human slung over his shoulder. Former looked up at me, a grin on his face, and he waved just as the ghost carrying him raced off into the Ghost Zone. "Darn it," Skulker muttered, crossing his arms over his chest, "they're scattering like scared prey. It's going to take months to get them all back together."

I glanced over at Skulker's annoyed face and my grin grew. I wasn't entirely sure why. "Let's get out of here," I said.

Valerie nodded her agreement, checked to make sure my mom had a grip on her jet sled, then hit the accelerator and vanished into the Ghost Zone. As Skulker's jets blasted and sent him into the air, I reached over and snagged my dad's hand, tugging him over the edge of the floating rock. His fingers clenched a little in surprise when we stared to freefall. Letting us fall for a few hundred feet before we leveled out, I fixed on the Fenton Portal – my body instantly aligning with my home – and accelerated.

"Danny!" I heard my dad shout over the whistling air in my ears. I looked down at him, saw him pointing up behind us, and glanced over my shoulder. I tensed, expecting to see guards racing towards us, a furious Walker in the lead.

Instead, all I saw was a wash of green and blue. Tiny flickers of light were boiling out of the Pits like a sideways tornado of color. The ghost lights danced and swirled through the endless abyss, groups of them breaking away to swirl off into uncharted territories.

An unconscious grin slipped onto my face as I watched them, wondering why they were all leaving the Pits, but I doubted I ever would be able to figure it out. The one thing I did know was that the ghost lights were spirits – the tiny remains of the ghosts that had died in the Pits. Maybe now that they were out in the Ghost Zone they would be able to get enough energy to reform their original bodies. There were very few places where a ghost could go and _really_ die; perhaps the Pits wasn't one of them.

One tiny blue light twirled up right in front of me, extended a small tendril of light, and touched my forehead. I could suddenly see a young girl in a dirty blue dress, her form faint and unsure. _Thank you for freeing us._

I smiled confusedly at her, a few ghost lights swirling around me. I had freed them? How had I done that?

_We wanted to show you this before we left_. She blinked at me once, tipped her head to the side, and the world twisted black.

_Bobbing and dancing, I was back in my cell, staring down at myself lying on my cot. I could see a boy standing over me, his spectral hand pressed against my forehead. When the ghost looked up, I could see clearly who it was: LJ, in his human form. "Darn it, he's too sick."_

_I remembered this – back before I'd fallen into this hybrid stage. I had gotten so sick I hadn't been able to keep my eyes open. Twirling a little bit closer, I watched as LJ picked a bowl off the ground. It was already full of soup._

_He studied me for a long moment, then reached into a pocket and pulled out a small vial. "No offense, but I need a hybrid to do this." He held out the small vial, dangling it in front of my pale face. "If you've got any problems about being a hybrid, speak now or forever hold your peace."_

_Silence fell in the cell, then LJ shrugged. "Works for me," he muttered, yanked the stopper out, and poured the glowing substance into the soup. A few stirs later and he set the bowl back on my bed. I watched as he twisted back into his rat form and walked up to press his cold nose against my cheek. The me on the cot rolled over and buried my head in an arm._

_"Hybrid?" he said to me. "You need to eat something."_

I blinked a few times as the Ghost Zone shimmered back into reality, my father's weight still hanging from my arms. I remembered eating that soup. I just let that sit in my head for a moment, not sure what to think about it. The rat had caused me to turn into this hybrid form; it was _his_ fault that I couldn't be human.

_Perhaps,_ the ghost light who was one of the people I'd murdered, _now that you know what caused it, you can undo it._

"Thanks," I murmured, but the small blue ghost light didn't hang around. She twirled and danced off into the Ghost Zone, headed for parts unknown. I watched her go, my gaze being dragged past the door that led into the Pits just in time to see Walker and a small army of guards step through the door and fix their eyes on me.

I started to move instantly, glancing up just long enough to see that Valerie and my mother were already out of sight. My fingers tightened around my dad's wrist as I pulled him faster and faster, racing Walker for the Fenton portal. I didn't have to look over my shoulder to realize that I wouldn't make it: I was carrying my dad and Walker wasn't carrying anybody – it didn't take much math to realize who was faster.

It wasn't until blasts of energy started to zip past us that I glanced backwards. I let go of my dad's arm with one hand and pulled spectral energy out of the air to form into a blast, shooting back towards the approaching guards. Walker, swelled up to about a hundred times his normal size, was glaring at me angrily with his pumpkin-sized raisin eyes.

Twisting and diving and rolling, I managed to avoid most of the blasts that were getting sent our way, but I wouldn't be able to keep it up for long. With every dodge I was forced to make, the guards inched their way closer. My own attacks were not strong enough or aimed well enough to do much damage – not with my dad hanging onto my wrist.

The Fenton Portal was still too far away. I needed to do something to get rid of the guards chasing us long enough to make it through. A floating chunk of rock just ahead caught my eye and I glanced down at my dad. He was staring back at the ghosts with a strange look on his face – one of mixed fear and anger and interest. "Trust me?" I yelled down at him over the whistle of air in my ears.

He looked up and nodded, so I let go of his hand.

I didn't look down as he plummeted away from me. I twisted around, diving right back towards the guards, the blades appearing on my arms in a dash of cold metal. I was in them in just a few seconds, swirling and stabbing at anything that moved, slicing and slashing arms and legs and heads. Guards screamed and scattered, many of them dropping into the depths of the Ghost Zone, yelling in pain.

One guard made it too close and I threw myself into a back handspring in mid-air, kicking out with a foot and knocking the ghost away from me. As soon as I was back to right-side-up, I was sending a blast towards him, enhanced by the energy trapped in the star-silver blades on my arms. When the stream of energy slammed into his chest, it exploded like a small bomb, taking three other guards out with the one I'd been aiming for.

I charged up my blades again, but the remaining ghosts scattered, falling back to regroup around the giant-sized Walker. I stood in the air, my feet planted solidly in nothing, and glared up at Walker. Here was my chance – again. I could kill him and get it over with.

_He deserves nothing more than death after all he's done. He's ruining thousands of lives, murdered hundreds or thousands of innocent people. Kill him._

I slowly started to drop through the air, my feet coming to rest on the spit of rock I'd dropped my father onto just seconds earlier. My blades were still on my arms, glittering brightly in the eerie light of the Ghost Zone.

_Just kill him. He's weak and almost powerless in the Ghost Zone; it would take next to nothing to take him down._

I couldn't explain why I wasn't just giving in – why I wasn't up there killing him and ending his murdering spree. Something inside of me was fighting back.

Something was saying: _enough fighting._

A hand touched my shoulder and I shuddered a little, looking into my father's eyes. His eyes sparkled, filled with love and understanding – something I knew my own eyes weren't reflecting back. My whole body was trembling with the desire to go and kill Walker, to make him pay for everything he'd done to me. "Let's go home," Dad said.

I glanced back at Walker, my fingers clenching into fists. The huge, white warden wasn't moving. Perhaps he understood that he had created something he couldn't control – something he couldn't contain. Maybe he knew that if he went up against me he wouldn't survive through it. Any way it worked, he wasn't attacking me.

He was just glaring, threatening… taunting. He _wanted_ me to attack him.

Suddenly, I understood Walker's little game. He wanted me to fight – and he wanted me to fight on _my_ terms, to kill without being forced, to try to obliterate someone when I had the choice to not. If I did that, I would _truly _be a monster.

I stared back into Walker's eyes. Despite everything he'd forced me to do, he hadn't won yet. He was playing his last card with crossed fingers.

"Danny," Dad said, his voice soft, "let's go."

Slowly, I turned my back on Walker. I turned my back on everything Walker and his Pits stood for – murder and fighting and blood and lies and torture – and looked towards something new. I grabbed my dad's warm hand, held it tightly, and pushed off the ground.

Flying towards the Fenton Portal, I never looked back.

Walker and his guards didn't follow.

* * *

Mom, Valerie, and Skulker were waiting for us by the portal, standing on the small floating bit of rock just on this side of the Ghost Zone.

I dropped Dad onto the rock and drifted down myself, letting my feet touch the rock. Skulker walked up to me, grabbed my hand, and shook it. I stared at him in surprise for a moment before he spoke. "It was nice hunting with you, child," Skulker rumbled.

"Thanks," I said, sending him a confused look.

"However," he continued, "next time we meet your pelt _will_ hang on my wall." He released my hand and activated the rockets on his back. It took only seconds for him to disappear.

I glanced up at my parents, my heart thumping wildly in my chest. I had no idea what was waiting for me on the other side of the Ghost Portal. I was a murderer… a killer… what kind of place would I have in a normal human family? Did I even belong with them anymore?

"Come on, Danny," Mom said, leaning heavily on Dad, her broken leg barely touching the ground, "let's go home."

"Home," I whispered. _Is it possible for me to have a home again? After everything I've done?_

As Valerie stepped through the portal, Dad picked Mom up bridal style and followed, their forms vanishing in the swirling mists. I took a step towards it, but then hesitated and turned back to the Ghost Zone. My eyes swept over the quiet abyss for a few moments, catching sight of a few sparkles of green and blue lights.

My fingers reached into my pocket for Walker's key and I blinked, startled, when I found nothing in my pocket. I'd lost it. Somewhere out there in the endless chasm of the afterlife, was one tiny crystal that had caused so much trouble.

For a few more seconds I gazed out in the ghost world, wondering.

Then, without a word, I turned around and walked through the portal and into my new life.

* * *

_Underneath the cot in a tiny, room with the number 413 painted on the outside, a small light flickered above the last empty page in the journal. It drifted for a few moments, knowing that the story was over. There was no more of the hybrid's tale to tell – not that was suitable for this particular journal, at least._

_It danced out from under the cot, into the empty cell, through the door, and down the hallway. It swirled past Walker – who still hadn't found his key – and out into the arena where one young human female was facing her opponent in a fight to the death, staring into his two green eyes with a look of terror on her face. She knew what was about to happen to her; she'd read all about it. The two blades that had been strapped clumsily onto her arms just before she'd been thrown into this pit trembled._

_The blue ghost light hesitated, watching the fight, waiting for what it knew would come next. It flared impatiently, then twirled a little when it caught the sight of movement along the edge of the Pits._

_The little light was never far away from his brother, after all. It swirled out of the sky to illuminate Former's shadowed path, its blue aura sparkling against the crystal-like key clenched in Former's fist. Gory Former glanced up at his little brother with a small smile on his face._

_Then, together, they set out to rescue yet another soul from the Pits._


	24. The Epilogue

_Six weeks later…_

I was already sitting in my seat in the back of Mr. Lancer's class when everyone started to file in a few seconds before the bell rang. I barely looked up from the picture I was doodling as Sam and Tucker dropped into the chairs next to me. They were still talking about something that had happened hours earlier – something to do with Paulina and Dash during lunch that I hadn't seen.

I'd missed it because I wasn't even in the cafeteria to see it. But me not being there wasn't something new; this was my fourth day back at school and I hadn't stepped foot into the cafeteria. Sam and Tucker kept asking me why I refused to go in there, but I didn't have any answers for them. All I told them was that I didn't want to and I didn't really know why.

That wasn't true; I knew exactly why I wouldn't step into the lunch room. I just couldn't explain it to them – I couldn't explain it to anyone. The way everyone stared at me…

It wasn't like I _looked_ like a ghost. We couldn't figure out how to undo what LJ had done to turn me into a hybrid, but my parents had managed to invent a device that suppressed the ectoplasm in my body. It did almost nothing for my appearance – I still had eyes that changed color between blue and green depending on the light and my hair was still two-toned– but it did get rid of the supernatural glow.

Everyone stared at me anyways. It sent odd tingles down my spine and cold blood racing through my veins when they looked at me… two feelings that I really didn't like. So I just stayed away from places where people would be able to stare at me. Lunch, gym, the library… just about everywhere really. It wasn't a great solution to the problem and I knew that, but it seemed to work.

Sam touched my shoulder, yanking me out of my thoughts. I sent her a vague smile before my gaze drifted back to the picture I'd been doodling, a small sigh drifting from my lips. Not for the first time, I'd been doodling nothing but bodiless head and dead eyes.

I flipped to the next page before Sam could ask about it, making a mental note to get rid of the picture before anyone saw it. I'd already been to see a psychologist a few times and he had more than enough fodder from Val and my parents – he didn't need more proof of how messed up my mind was.

"Alright students," Lancer said when the bell rang. He grabbed a stack of papers off the desk and swept his eyes over the class. When his eyes connected with mine I shuddered and looked away. _Murderer…_ "The district finally handed me the topic for the final exam."

I took a deep breath, unclenching my fingers from where they'd grabbed the edge of the desk. _Calm down. He doesn't know anything. You're fine._ I hated looking people in the eyes; I could see nothing but death reflected back in them. My fingers were shaking a little as I picked up my pencil again, not even bothering to pretend to be paying attention.

The point of me being at school had nothing to do with learning. The psychologist had explained it to me very clearly: I was here for 'socialization'. All of the teachers knew it and none of them ever called me on not paying attention. They seemed pleased when all I managed to do was show up for class which, I have to admit, wasn't very often.

Sometimes everything was just too much and I had to just… leave. Everyone wanted me to stay in class, but I was afraid of what I'd do… what I was capable of doing if I ever lost control…

My attention wavered and my pencil started to scratch across the paper again as Lancer explained about the topic. I already knew what it was; this was the last class of the day and people had been talking about it. The topic – traumatic experiences – was achingly ironic.

Instead of listening to him ramble about something I wasn't planning on doing anyways, I turned my attention to the problem I'd been trying to solve for the past six weeks: how to answer a simple question.

The questions weren't really all that simple. Everyone wanted me to talk about what had happened to me while I was trapped in the Pits – my parents, my friends, the psychologist… and I never knew what to tell them. It wasn't that I didn't _want_ to tell them. I just… I _couldn't _tell them.

I wouldn't be able to stand it if they knew what I'd done. What would I do if they looked at me and saw nothing but the monster I really was?

Letting out a short breath, my gaze followed the pencil lead as it slipped across the page, filling it with more bloody doodles. Images readily filled my mind; those horrible three months lived in crystal clarity inside of me. I could still see everything like it had just happened.

It was so hard to believe that I'd been gone for three months. Three weeks I could wrap my mind around, maybe even a month since I'd been thrown into the Pits sixteen times. But three _months?_ The only thing that made me believe the calendar was how off my own rhythms were from everyone else's. It wasn't uncommon for me to eat once a day – if that – and I rarely got any sleep at night. It was almost like I was stuck living through days that lasted much longer than a real day did.

I wrinkled my nose as another imaged surfaced, my fingers doodling a picture of a headless rat on the page. I watched my fingers move, trying to ignore the images my mind dragged up. There was no reason to keep thinking about death and murder and fights and things like that – I was free and out of the Pits and that was that. It was time to focus on being normal again.

Biting my lip a little, I concentrated on my fingers, driving the other thoughts out. My fingers were bony and skinny, the same as the rest of me. Ten more reasons why I needed to start listening to the doctor's orders to eat more. I was already choking down five different pills every morning and I didn't weigh nearly as much as I should.

_Half-ghost murderer_… I blinked, shook my head, and focused on my drawing. The psychologist had mentioned – to my parents, not to me, but I'd heard it anyways – that maybe I wasn't eating because I didn't feel as though I deserved to eat. He said it might be a symptom of post-traumatic stress disorder. When I had carefully explained to him later that I was a half-ghost and I didn't need to eat as much as a normal human, he had merely listened, nodded, and told me to eat more.

My eyes narrowed and my pencil scrapped harder on the paper. _Stupid psychologist, I can't help not being hungry all the time_. The main problem with the psychologist was that he was _right _too often when he talked to me. It was frustrating to listen to him. Just for a split-second, an image drifted through my head of the man lying on the ground with no head, but I closed my eyes and forced it away. When I opened my eyes, I drew a dark circle on my paper, then sketched a lone figure locked inside, screaming, nobody listening to him.

Lancer dropped a piece of paper on my desk and I flinched a little, startled. I hadn't seen him come up. He hesitated, obviously looking at the picture I'd drawn, then moved on without a word. Scowling, I flipped to the next page in my notebook and set my pencil down, determined to stop drawing. Lancer would, no doubt, tell my parents what I'd drawn and they'd tell the psychologist and…

I just wanted everyone to stay out of my head. I could handle this. If only I could stop thinking about it all the time, I'd just go back to being normal. I was the hero, right? This shouldn't be bothering me like it was.

My fingers itched, twitched, then grabbed the pencil. The psychologist had said that doodling was okay – something about needing to get the images out of me somehow and if I couldn't talk about them, drawing was the next best option. Not that I'd ever give him what I drew. But maybe it was okay to just let my fingers draw, as long as I got rid of the pictures later.

I'd get over this. I'd stop thinking about it, I'd figure out how to talk to Sam and Tucker and tell them things without mentioning that I was a murderer, and I'd put it all in the past. Done. Over with. Finished.

_Killer…_ I dropped the pencil, rubbing the back of my neck and breathing slowly. Those thoughts had been easier to keep down when I was just struggling to stay alive. Now that I was home and safe, they just slipped in whenever they wanted. _Murderer_…

_Shut up shut up shut up_, I hissed at my own mind. I closed my eyes and waited, almost taunting my mind to throw something at me. It didn't – it never did, not when I was expecting it.

A scream made my eyes pop open and I froze, just for a split-second seeing a blood- and ectoplasm-soaked arena all around me, a dead little girl lying on the ground in front of me. My breath caught in my throat and my heart sped up in my chest.

Then it was gone and I was back in class, my fingers white-knuckled around the edge of my seat, struggling to get a breath into my lungs. The class was continuing on like nothing had happened – which, in reality, nothing had. I dug my fingers into my hair and closed my eyes, concentrating on slowing down my down my heartbeat. _Damn it, why does that keep happening?_

The flashbacks were getting worse as the week went on too. Monday hadn't been so bad, but now that it was Thursday, it was happening almost every hour. Suddenly I'd be somewhere else, just for a moment, before everything would go back to normal. _I wonder if I'm just stressed_, I sighed, crossing my arms and burying my head. _Maybe I can stay home from school tomorrow_.

The only problem with _that_ was that I'd have to tell my parents _why_. If they found out I was having flashbacks they'd be even more worried about me. _I can handle this_. Closing my eyes and tuning out the teacher, I focused on waiting out the rest of the school day.

_I can handle this on my own._

* * *

The end of the class came sooner than I expected. When the bell rang and I lifted my head, Tucker said, "We're going to the Nasty Burger. Do you want to come?"

I shook my head without even thinking about it. _Yes, I want to go… but no, I'm not going to go_. The Nasty Burger was just another place where people would stare at me. It was just another place that I had added to my 'must avoid' list.

Disappointment filtered through the air and I tried for a little smile – but I'm pretty sure I failed at it. "Next time, okay? I just…" I trailed off when she nodded.

"We understand, Danny," Sam said softly, smiling even though she _didn't_ really understand. She couldn't possibly understand – I couldn't tell her what was wrong. She grabbed her bag and walked away, Tucker trailing behind her, and I sighed. I _wanted_ to spend time with them, just like I wanted to tell them what had happened to me. I just couldn't.

I didn't dare let them see what I'd become. I knew that if I let them get too close, they would figure it all out. They'd see what I'd done and they'd look at me and I wouldn't be just imagining the fear and the accusation in their eyes anymore.

Slowly stuffing my notebook and pencil into my backpack, I waited until the classroom was empty of everyone except Lancer and me. I picked up the slip of paper that Lancer had dropped on my desk earlier, flipping it over to read it – the final exam topic. I already knew what it was, but my eyes drifted over it anyways, surprised when it didn't say what I was expecting. Everyone in the school had gotten the same topic… except me. My directions said that I was to write a paper about my favorite family vacation.

I studied the overweight teacher busy organizing his desk, feeling a small smile drift onto my face. He'd given me a different topic, no doubt worried about how I'd react to one about traumatic experiences. He looked up at me and I quickly dropped my gaze, shivering at the critical look in his eye. It wasn't really there – I _knew_ that – but my mind kept putting it there. _Murderer_.

As soon as he turned his back to me, I crammed the final exam topic into my backpack and twisted invisible. Letting my feet drift off the ground, I pushed myself intangible and raced into the afternoon air, headed for my sanctuary in the park.

* * *

I loved the park. Lying on the warm grass, feeling the sun beat down on me, my fingers laced behind my head… it was absolutely the complete opposite of Walker's Pits. I'd found this little hill off in a corner of the park where few people ever came weeks ago and had quickly claimed it. This place – it felt like nothing could ever go wrong. Like there wasn't a care or a problem in the world.

Sometimes I wondered what would happen if someone walked up to me _here_ and started to ask me about what had happened with Walker. Most of the time, I imagined that I'd be able to answer them. I'd just tell them, to let them know just what was bothering me all the time, to hear them tell me that I _wasn't_ a monster or a murderer and that everything would be fine…

A sour grin twisted my face at that thought. _It's really too bad that I am a monster and a murderer._

I shook my head, sending the thought scattering across my mind. _Stop thinking about it. Think about something else. _My head tipped to the side and I watched a few of the new dandelions bob in the breeze. _Like flowers. Maybe Mom will let me plant some flowers or something._ The thought was pretty far out there – I wasn't interested at all in planting – but at least it wasn't dark, tortured, or deadly. _Maybe I can get some virtual flowers._

Oddly, the thought set a grin on my face, trying to imaging how Tucker would react when I asked him to develop a virtual flower bed. He'd probably stare at me, stunned and flabbergasted, but would then get caught up in how to get it to work and get excited about it. No doubt he'd be able to do it and there was no doubt that I wouldn't have a green thumb in the virtual world either.

_You'd kill them too, murderer…_

I breathed out sharply, annoyed, and tightly clamped my eyes shut. _Shut up!_ When nothing but silence met my demand, I rolled onto my stomach and buried my head in my arms. Why couldn't I do _anything_ without thinking about it? Why couldn't I just forget it ever happened?

_"Hyrbid…"_

I flinched, instinctively looking up. The grass melted away, replaced by the ever-present sand on the pit floor. Adrenaline rushed through my veins, my heart almost doubling in speed as I stared into the rat's sapphire eyes. _It's just an illusion, just a flashback… it'll go away…_

_"Where's my key?!"_ LJ wailed as his head tumbled from his shoulders in a gush of ectoplasm. Scrambling to my feet, I stared down at the small rat's head that had rolled towards me. _"Where's my heart?"_

"It's just a flashback," I whispered, taking an unsteady step backwards and swallowing heavily.

A hand grabbed my shoulder and I twisted around, staring into two deadly, raisin-like eyes. _"Punk. Where's my key?_"

I jerked backwards, falling back to the ground, feeling a thick tightness around my neck. One hand drifted upwards, my fingers touching a leathery collar around my neck. "I… I… I don't have…"

Walker sneered. _"Is that all you are now? Afraid? Are you that terrified?"_

"No," I said, forcing myself back to my feet. "I'm not afraid of you."

_"Not of me, maybe,"_ he said with a slow grin. _"But you're definitely afraid."_

Blades glided out of my arms at the simplest thought, frustrated and more than a little afraid of what Walker was saying. I knew that it wasn't something I wanted to hear. "You're not really here. Go away."

He took a step towards me, his bulk swelling until he was nearly twice my height. Then he leaned over me, forcing me to crane my neck. _"It's your own thoughts, Punk, don't blame me for being them in._"

I slashed at him but it did nothing – the blade just traveled through his body like it didn't exist. "Leave me alone."

Walker, surprisingly, laughed at that. His voice sounded like a rattlesnake and old bones, but it was definitely a laugh. _"It doesn't matter if you attack me – I'm always here, can't you see that? You've built yourself the universe's best prison… one you can't escape from… and you've make me its warden._"

With a growl I lunged at him, not wanting to listen to what he had to say. I swiped my blades at him over and over but they never connected. Walker's form wavered and shifted, twisting into Dan – an evil future me. _"Is that all you've got, Danny?"_ he chuckled. _"Kill me. Murder me. Go ahead._"

I crouched, more than intending on attacking him to get him to go away and leave me alone, but another form appeared out of nowhere and slammed into me, knocking me over onto my back. Glowing green eyes stared into me. _"What the hell do you think you're doing?"_ Phantom hissed.

"Leave me alone!" I struggled a little, trying to force him off of me.

_"Can you say 'been here, done this'?"_ Phantom snapped. _"Knock it off!"_ One hand came around and whapped my head. _"Idiot. You can't live like this."_

My eyes narrowed as I stared into his, still tense and pushing against him. "I can handle this."

_"You're explaining this to a separate piece of your own personality!" _he exclaimed, a note of frustration to his voice. _"It's obvious that you can't handle it."_

"I don't want-"

_"I know,_" he interrupted. _"But do it anyways. They aren't going to turn their backs on you, you know."_

I relaxed, letting out a slow breath. "I don't..."

Phantom leaned closer, his form wavering and twisting into Ember's. Her green eyes burned into mine, her cold breath against my face. _"Don't make me hurt you, dipstick_."

Then, suddenly, everything was gone. I was lying on my back in the grass, staring at the setting sun rather than a pair of eyes. Sitting up and running a hand through my hair, I looked around. I was still at the park, although I was now surrounded by a patch of decidedly scorched grass. And… I glanced down at my arms, sighing when I saw how sliced up the arms of my shirt were from where the blades had come out.

Curling my arms around my stomach, I took a few breaths, just sitting there, watching the sun set. Birds quietly trilled around me, apparently unconcerned about the half-ghost in their midst. _Walker's right_. I thought it, almost laughing at how much it hurt to admit. _Walker's right – not only have I built the greatest prison ever, but I'm willingly locking myself inside of it_.

I dragged my backpack over, dug out my notebook, and flipped through the pages to stare down at the picture of the screaming figure locked away in a circle. I stared at it silently, the light around me slowly dying away.

_I can't live like this_. My fingers traced around the dark circle. _But I don't know what to say. I don't know how to say it. And what if…_

_What if they…_ I shook my head. I didn't know what I would do if they were afraid of me, or if they thought I was a murderer too, or if they didn't want to be around me anymore. My family and my friends had been the only things keeping me alive for those three months. I didn't know what I would do if they turned their backs on me.

_How can I possibly tell them the truth?_

My fingers riffled the edges of the notebook a few times. I wasn't sure what I was thinking, but I had this feeling in my stomach that _something_ was going to happen. I flipped a few pages – reminding myself once more to get rid of the pages full of decapitated bodes and severed limbs on my way home – and ended up staring at an empty page in the notebook.

A pencil found its way into my fingers and I took a deep breath. Licking the tip of my pencil – a bad habit I'd picked up in the Pits and had to stop doing – I let it touch the paper. Across the top of the page, I scrawled 'final exam'.

_Even if I never turn it in, what's one more page?_

"Five months ago I was captured by a group of ghosts.."


	25. Final Exam (the paper)

Daniel Fenton  
Casper High Middle Level English  
Final Paper  
7th Period

* * *

Topic: Write a paper detailing one of the traumatic experiences of your life. Explain how it affects you today, and how it has changed your life. Use concrete details and try to evoke emotions in the reader.

* * *

Trauma

* * *

As you all know, five months ago I was captured by a group of ghosts and taken to the ghost zone. The head of the ghost police, Walker, decided that I was more trouble than I was worth and I was sentenced to die. He likes being an executioner. However, the ghost zone is a bit behind the times; they don't execute people like we do today with gas chambers or injections. No – Walker's particular section of the ghost zone is stuck in Roman times. Ghosts are executed Coliseum-style.

I'm not going to bore you with the trip to the pits' holding cells, getting shocked with a device known as the "Plasmius Maximus," or that first night that I spent there in the dark listening to the condemned wail and cry around me. This paper is supposed to be about one experience. I chose my first trip to the pits; the fight that changed my life.

It was early in the morning, which was lucky I found out later. The pits' sand is changed at night and by about mid-morning it's so full of spilled ectoplasm and blood that it's more of a muddy mess than anything else. Walker's goons thought it was funny when they came to drag me away: a puny human going up against one of the strongest pit fighters on record. They gave me a sporting chance, though, when I was given these two sword-like weapons. They were strapped onto my arms and the blades extended above my wrists and about two feet beyond my fingertips. The blades were specially created blades for humans to use in the fights: they deflected ecto-bursts from ghosts and could cut into ghosts even if they were intangible.

The guards yanked me out of my dark cell, forcing my hands behind my back and pushed me down the long ramp to the arena. I later learned that I was put into pit three – the largest of the five pits in the complex. I couldn't see anything at first, the light was so bright it made my eyes water, but when my eyes adjusted to the sudden glare my heart dropped.

The pit was huge, nearly the size of a football field, and covered in a thick layer of sand. Ghost sand is a lot like regular sand, by the way. It gets everywhere, hurts when you get it in your shoes, and turns into a sticky mess when wet. Three fights had already happened and large pools of green blood were soaking into the sand. What was most disturbing about the arena was what surrounded the pit... rows and rows of seats, like a stadium, were filled with hundreds of ghosts – all of them screaming and hollering – betting on who would win the fight: me, weakling Danny Fenton, or Crusher, my opponent. The odds were not in my favor.

Crusher was the reigning champion of the pits. He had survived in the pits for four and a half weeks – only two days shy of the record. He was a large ghost, strong and muscular, with a bad temper and no compassion. It made him a wonderful pit fighter.

I was on my first fight. Almost everybody lost their first fight.

When we reached a point about a third of the way across the pit, the guards shoved me to the ground and took off, wanting to stay away from my blades. I couldn't have used them at that point, I was too stunned and confused about what was going on.

Crusher was a different story entirely. It took seven guards to wrestle him to his starting position. As soon as they let go Crusher swung at them, grabbing a guard with his overly-large fists before they could get away. Overhead, a ghost shield snapped on to prevent the fighters from flying away or hurting the patrons who were betting on the fights.

I still didn't know what to expect from the Pits; nobody had bothered to explain it to me. I didn't know that the second I was released I was allowed to start, I didn't know what I was supposed to do, and I didn't realize the consequences of being in a Pit fight. But I learned quickly. The poor guard that hadn't gotten away fast enough was my first lesson in pit fighting.

Crusher ripped the ghost to shreds with his bare hands, ectoplasmic blood raining down on the sand like a small thunderstorm. As I stood there, stunned by the suddenness of the guard's demise, Crusher looked up and grinned at me. There was no sanity left in those green eyes... Crusher was crazy. I knew it down to the tips of my toes. And I knew I was next.

The huge ghost moved incredible fast - part of it was probably because I was in shock and not thinking right. But Crusher had gotten about fifty feet closer to me before I realized it and started to react.

His fist suddenly glowed green and headed straight for my head. If it would have connected, my head would have been gone right then and my story would have been over. I managed to duck at the last second, my arm snaking out in an attempt to punch him, but I had forgotten about the blades. When I tried to punch him in the stomach, the sharp point of the blade went right into his gut.

I yanked it back out, stammering an apology and backing away. I hadn't meant to hurt him like that- I still didn't understand the point of a pit fight. Crusher looked up at me, his green eyes burning with crazy hatred, one hand holding onto the gash in his stomach. "You," Crusher hissed, his voice deep and echoing.

He came at me again, an ectoblast forming in his hands. I raised my arms in self defense, crossing the blades in front of me. I was lucky, I suppose. Crusher's ectoblast smashed into the blades and was deflected away, slamming into the ground. Pushed backwards a few feet, my arms tingled painfully from the force of the blast.

Crusher followed the blast in, fingers grasping for my neck. Since humans find themselves in the pits nearly as often as ghosts do, Crusher had fought enough humans to know our weak spots. A simple twist of the neck and I would have been finished.

However, I was finally coming out of the shock of the first few attacks and I wasn't quite ready to die at the hands of some crazy ghost. Sidestepping Crusher's attacks. I slammed a blade into his arm as he passed. The blade was a lot sharper than I had thought it would be; it went straight through his arm with little resistance. I suppose it helped that Crusher didn't have any bones for blades to get snagged on. Crusher and his left arm were forever separated.

He staggered to a stop, holding his severed stump of an arm close to his body, ectoplasm dripping down his front. He snarled at me and launched himself again, this time taking to the air. Ghosts can't fly high in the Pits because of the ghost shield, but they can get about twenty-five feet off the ground. Once Crusher was up to his highest point, he dove straight towards me.

There is nothing quite as scary as a six-foot tall, glowing, powerful, and insane ghost hurtling towards you at about a hundred miles an hour - trust me on that. He had his remaining fist out in front of him, fatal amounts of ectoenergy pulsating between his fingers. I thought my reaction was wonderful considering the circumstances: I screamed and panicked.

This happened to be quite helpful in this situation since I dropped into a crouch, my hands coming up to cover my head, the blades attached to my arms sticking up into the air. Crusher, already in a steep dive, was going way too fast for the distance he was traversing and couldn't stop or correct his dive in time. He had been aiming for my stomach. Now that I was crouched, he was aimed for my two blades.

He ran into them, not being able to pull up enough, the two blades carving out long strips of his chest and abdomen. Crusher collapsed to the sand, screaming in pain. Scrambling to my feet, I warily got as far away from the enraged Crusher as possible. I figured he had more tricks up his sleeve – being the reigning champion and all.

I was right. Crusher pushed himself to his feet, seemingly gallons of ectoplasm running down his front, and vanished. It would have been a much bigger deal if Crusher hadn't been bleeding all over the place. His ectoplasm didn't stay invisible once it wasn't connected to him anymore; I could easily trace his path across the pit floor by the thick trail of green blood he was leaving behind.

When Crusher reached me, I was ready. Since I knew where he was, I was able to thrust my two blades forwards in a double-punch and I felt them sink into the flesh of his stomach. What happened next reviles me even to this day. I know that ghosts fix themselves much quicker than humans, and what I did was far from fatal for Crusher, but it still weighs on my mind at times. I had two blades in his abdomen about four inches apart. When I felt his cold skin hit my fists, I ripped my arms apart, tearing the blades through Crusher's sides and, basically, cutting Crusher in half.

Crusher screamed, losing his invisibility instantly. I was showered in a spray of cool ectoplasm as teetered on his feet for a moment, and then collapsed onto the ground, his good arm clutching at his destroyed stomach, unable to breath because of the pain.

I stood there, dripping in my opponent's ectoplasm, staring at him. He wasn't going to get up – not for a very long time. I had won. Looking up, gazing around, I wondered, stupidly, when the medic was going to come help Crusher and let me off the field.

I had never paid attention in history class. I should have. Then what happened wouldn't have surprised me nearly as much.

The crowd was chanting. "Destroy! Destroy! Destroy!" They were screaming and cheering, the ghosts that had placed bets on me shrieking to get on with it so they could go collect their winnings.

I wasn't able to comprehend what they meant. I had won, hadn't I? What more did they want from me?

Walker answered my unspoken question. He had been sitting in his special box for the entire match, but now he was floating over the pit, just on the other side of the ghost shield. "Destroy him, Punk."

"What?" I wasn't being dense; I knew what he meant. I just couldn't understand why.

"Only one of you may survive, Punk: you or him. Choose."

I looked down at Crusher, who was staring up at me with those crazy glowing eyes. "Kill me," Crusher whispered. "I'll just die tomorrow when they throw me back in here. I'm too injured to fight anymore. Kill me so you can live."

There were tears on my cheeks. Crusher wasn't fighting anymore; I wasn't going to hurt him. "Kill him, Punk!" Walker ordered.

"I can't," I whispered, staring down into his eyes. "I can't kill you." I stared at him, sinking down onto my knees by his side, not noticing the cool ectoplasmic mud that I was kneeling in.

Crusher's crazy eyes locked onto mine. "The first kill is always the hardest, kid." I felt his muscular hand grab my limp arm and he maneuvered my arm so the blade was hovering over his throat. "One swift cut and it'll all be over."

"No…"

It's hard to think back on what happened next... I don't think I'll ever be entirely sure what happened. What I do know is that Crusher started my arm moving down and through and that I completed the movement. I'm not sure when it went from Crusher killing himself to me killing him. I will never know if Crusher committed suicide or was murdered.

I do remember the cool gush of ectoplasm as it left Crusher's throat and cascaded over me. He disintegrated in my arms soon after that, leaving nothing behind by a muddy pool of green ectoplasmic blood. The next thing I remember well was being back in my dark cell, crying.

I wish that I could say that the story was over there... that nothing else happened to me. Then there wouldn't be an aftermath - I wouldn't have to think about how I tried to commit suicide or how I had taken the life of something sentient. I wish that those three months of my life could just be erased like words on paper. I wish that the burning memories of being forced to repeat the same scene over and over again wouldn't exist.

I was locked in the pits for two months before I escaped. I fought and killed so many ghosts and humans; every one of them screams in my dreams at night. Most of the time the opponents at least tried to fight. But too many of them, especially the ones that had never been in the Pits before, didn't put up much of a fight. They just dropped to their knees and gave up. In the end, it never mattered what they did since the outcome was always the same: only one can survive. I'm still here – you can figure out what happened to my opponents. By the end my second week trapped in the Pits, I could kill without a second thought. Ghost… human… fighting or on their knees… all died at my hands. By the time I managed to get out, I didn't even care when I killed someone. My mind had just shut down and had given up on being me anymore.

When I look back, it's not the beatings or the small cell or the dark or the lack of food or the fights... none of that makes me wake up at night. It's never the memories of crying in the dark or the thoughts of just finally letting myself die there and then or the screams of the dying that give me nightmares. It's not the haunting and persistent thoughts about what I could have done differently that wake me up.

It's the eyes. The eyes of the condemned, staring up at me, pleading for their lives. For I was their executioner. Not Walker – for all he boasts of loving to be the executioner – me.

And those eyes will be with me for the rest of my life.


	26. Final Exam (the reaction)

Dear Journal –

It was the day I had been waiting for: final exam day. My stomach twisted slightly and a grin split my face this morning as I thought about how close summer was, and how easy grading final exams this year would be. I'm rather intelligent, if I do say so myself. I came up with a killer plan to keep me from having to read, and then grade, each of them. Most would probably be abysmal, as per usual, full of simple grammar errors and a lack of personality.

My plan? Reading them aloud. Students would come up to the front of the room and read their papers to their peers. This not only kept me from stumbling through a maze of "there, their, and they're"s, but it gave the students work at those annoying public speaking standards the state was constantly shoving down my throat. Of course, all the students _knew_ that they were going to be reading them aloud. They had planned accordingly, or so I hoped.

Life was wonderful for most of the day. We managed to get through nearly half of the papers in each class. I had, without spending any of _my_ time on it, graded each of the papers as they were being read. The topic left something to be desired… but that was something I couldn't help. It was a district exam, with a district-appointed topic, and needed to be graded via district-approved guidelines.

The topic this year was traumatic events. It was depressing at times. I began to wonder, some time around fourth period, if the students were vying for having the most sappy, angst-filled, tear-jerker of a story. Most of it, I'm sure, was made up. Some of it I _know_ was made up. One guy in my fifth period managed to blow up his family twice in his paper – after he had already drowned them.

But then seventh period came. I had been hoping this one student of mine would pull his normal disappearing act and not show up today. I had, actually, been praying for it. The student's name was Daniel Fenton. He had the title of being my most confusing, frustrating, and hopeful student.

There was very little I knew about Danny. His family was supportive and pro-school, but yet he seemed to get no sleep at night. Danny seemed to like school and tried hard, but he skipped out so often. He was also very smart; always ready with a sarcastic quip or pun. I wasn't supposed to know that – he tried really hard to look like a normal, average student – but I eavesdropped on his conversations with his friends. I felt no moral compunction about it. He was usually sitting in my class while he was doing it… while I was trying to teach him something.

However, about three months ago, Danny was kidnapped. His family and friends were frantic, and there was no sign of him anywhere. Everybody had finally given him up for dead when he showed back up. Where he was, nobody really knew and nobody would say. Then again, nobody but Danny knows what he went through. He won't talk to me or the councilor at all. His family and his friends know very little about what happened. His older sister, Jazz, has come to talk to me a few times over the past few weeks about how scared she is. She thinks Danny is bottling things up inside, refusing to talk about it. He refuses to cry, she says, he refuses to feel anything.

Two weeks after he somehow found his way back into our lives, Danny came back to school. It was more for socialization than for schoolwork. All of the teachers knew that. There was only a few weeks of school left anyway. He needed to relearn how to deal with people. But the more people were around him, asking him what was wrong, the more Danny seemed to pull in to himself, trying to lose himself.

I could see signs in Danny every time I looked at him. He was slowly unraveling, his eyes had lost their brilliant shine and he rarely smiled. His ready quips and sarcastic eye-rolls were absent. He seemed to stop caring about everything. He would just sit in that desk, staring straight ahead, not even noticing when Sam or Tucker would drop a note onto his desk. He just stared.

When I had finally found out about this year's topic for final exams, my heart had all but stopped at the thought of Danny Fenton. He was suffering so much still… I'm not completely heartless, no matter what my students may think, so I cheated. Ever so slightly. I gave Danny a different topic to write about. I had hoped he wouldn't notice. Or, if he did, that he either wouldn't care or would be happy about writing something different.

As I started the exams that fateful seventh period, I kept a close eye on Danny. He had his paper, neatly typed, upside down on his desk. He stared out the window then entire time, not seeming to notice the emotionally-charged stories being read aloud. I relaxed, listening more carefully to each of the exams as they were being read.

This class surprised me. They weren't being overly dramatic and weren't focusing on rather petty topics. Well… on the whole. Ms. Sanchez did write a rather eloquent, seven-page tirade about the one day that she and some "loser-Goth" had shown up wearing the same shirt, managing to detail no less than nine reasons why that was one of the most traumatic moments of her life. Mr. Baxter managed to squeak through his exam with a simple description of losing a football game. Even Ms. Manson pulled a decent grade after writing a short story about how her parents were ruining her life.

When it was Danny's turn, he walked up to the front of the room rather slowly. I didn't know what to expect from him. He hadn't spoken up in my class since his return to school. His friends were sharing nervous looks and whispering to each other. From what I could overhear, neither of them knew what Danny's exam was about. That made my heart skip a beat. What could he have written about that he hadn't told those two about?

When he reached the front of the class, Danny turned to look at us. The entire class was dead silent. Nobody knew what Danny was about to say, but most of them were hoping it was about those missing two months. He glanced up at me, smiled ever-so-slightly, and then held up his paper and began to read.

Within seconds, it was completely evident that he had disregarded my changed topic. He was reading his story… a story about what had happened to him during his capture. I should have stopped him the minute I figured it out. But I couldn't. I was transfixed.

I will never forget watching him stand up in front of class and read that paper aloud. His voice was soft, almost raspy with disuse, and he spoke unhurriedly and methodically. His hands never trembled, his feet never shifted uneasily, and his eyes never stopped their deliberate tracking from left to right as he read. He just stood there, reading his paper, seemingly as relaxed and sure of himself as if he was reading a story about dragons and wizards. Nobody in class moved from the moment that Danny started to read. Nobody even breathed, or so it felt.

I listened, captured by the words and the images, as Danny told of a short segment of his ordeal. One fight… described brilliantly through words and emotions. At one point, I'm not sure when, Danny's head came up, his cool, blue eyes gazing out at the class as he recited his paper from memory. I know he was looking at his two friends, who were sitting in the back of the room, hands over their mouths, faces pale. He was confessing a small portion of what he had gone through. Not to the class. Not to me. To _them_. This was the only way he could come up with the courage to do it.

As he was finishing up his fight, I tore my eyes off of him to scan the class. Sam and Tucker looked like they were either going to pass out or leap out of their seats, their eyes wide as they digested the information. Some of the students in the classroom, including Valerie, were wiping tears from their eyes. The football stars had their gazes locked on Danny, shaking their heads slightly, uncomprehending. Even Paulina was staring up at him, her hand over her mouth, listening carefully.

A shiver passed through the room as he wrapped up his paper. He told about all the lives that had been forfeited at his hands, a short overview of everything that he had done to survive. I could feel the pain, the torture, and the anguish that made his voice crack for the first time since he started to read. Finally, he dropped his hands to his sides, his blue eyes tearing up as he was unable to look at the class anymore. His voice dropped from his soft speaking tone to a hoarse whisper as he finished his paper, staring at the floor.

The ending of his paper will haunt my nightmares. Danny, standing utterly defeated in the front of the room, tears dripping down his cheeks, his voice harsh with remembered pain. The awful silence of the room. Danny, speaking that last sentence, barely getting it out. "And those eyes will be with me for the rest of my life." I will never forget that line.

His paper dropped out of his hands, Sam and Tucker flying out of their seats to catch him as he collapsed, sobbing, to the floor. Unable to move, the rest of the class and I watched in disbelief as the two of them led the poor teenager out of the room. For nearly a minute, we were all perfectly still, staring dazedly at the spot where Danny had been standing.

I should have done something. I should have been teacher-ish for Danny and his friends. I know that. But at the time, my brain wasn't working. All I could do was stand there, trying to process what I had just found out. When my mind finally clicked back into gear, the only thing I could think of was the fact that final exams were done for the day. I couldn't focus and nobody else would be able to either. The students were assigned to read for the remainder of the period – I don't even care that few of them did.

I walked to the front of the room, stopped for a second in the place where he had been standing, gazing at the small wet spots on the floor where his tears had fallen. I bent down and picked up his paper. Then, I walked over to my desk and sat down, placing the neatly typed paper in front of me, my mind blank.

I never noticed when the bell rang. I didn't know my students were gone. The next time I looked up, it was well over an hour since the end of school. But I made no move to get up, I did not leave. I just sat there – staring at my most confusing student's paper.

_Now what?_ Danny will probably not be in school tomorrow. He had found a way to open up and share the emotions that were tearing him apart on the inside. He had found a way to get the help he needed. For that, I am glad. But it left me with a million questions.

How do you deal with a student that has been forced to kill? A child that had been beaten, tortured, locked up, and forced to commit atrocities that ran against his very being? What kind of torment had Danny been going through this past month… keeping all of those emotions locked inside of him? Perhaps they had been too much to bear. They were too painful and too overwhelming, so he didn't even want to try.

Unable to answer my questions, sending a silent prayer that Danny wouldn't try and attend school tomorrow, I finally packed up my bag and stood up to leave. As I was pushing my chair in, my clipboard was jostled off of its pile of papers and clattered to the floor. I picked it up, a new question picking at my mind as I stared down at the half-finished final evaluation clipped to it.

How was I going to grade this particular student's work? Hesitating, I picked up Danny's paper, staring down at the title page. I shook my head, laughing slightly. Of all the problems in the world, this was rather trivial. That's my lot in life, I suppose. Danny would need to deal with his problems on his own. Of course, I would be there for him no matter what – and I would make sure he knew that. But I needed to deal with my problems… and this was one of them.

I bit my lip. This paper didn't deserve a grade. Not one that I could give. You cannot give a paper that he had obviously poured his heart and soul in to something as simple as a grade. For Danny, it had been his release, his plea for help, and his first step towards controlling his future and making a better life for himself. It was more than a paper; it was more than simple words on a page.

I very carefully set my student's work down on my desk. I would send it home with Jazz next time I saw her. I wasn't supposed to return these exams – but this was not something I could keep.

Then, without a second thought, I pulled Danny's half-finished evaluation off of the clipboard, crinkled it up into a tiny ball, and tossed it into the trash.


End file.
